


Rowan and Red Oak

by ChuckleVoodoos



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wizards, Fluff, M/M, Magic, Muggle/Wizard Relations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 08:08:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4739030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChuckleVoodoos/pseuds/ChuckleVoodoos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy meets a man with a red oak wand and a sweet smile. Over the next eight years, Foggy makes a lot of coffee, reads a lot of tea leaves, breaks a lot of rules and casts a lot of charms. He also spends a good amount of his time pining over his perfect partner and trying to keep his wild outbursts of emotional magic to a minimum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rowan and Red Oak

“I know you. You’re the one who—“

 

“Yes, I’m the kid who got hit with a Dark curse and became blind. Yes, I’ve been to Scamander Hospital and there was nothing they could do. Yes, I really can’t see anything. Yes, I will retaliate if you try to take advantage of it _or_ me in the future. I don’t care how good a wizard you are—I will make you regret it for every moment that you draw breath, and there is not a spell in the world that will save you.”

 

Foggy stares for a moment, stunned and more than a little worried. All his warm fuzzies about having a new roommate and a possible new bestie have been abruptly squashed by this rather heartfelt intimidation.

 

On the plus side, he now knows his roommate is a wizard. He hadn’t been sure since Columbia mixes housing, and the thought of trying to hide his magic for three years from a Muggle had been daunting.

 

It’s just that he was sorting of hoping that he’d get a wizard that _wasn't_ planning to make him regret things for as long as Foggy draws breath. Call him spoiled, but he’d hoped.

 

“Um.” He smiles awkwardly. “I was actually going to say that you’re the one who beat my LSAT score, but the blind curse thing is cool too.”

 

The man—Matt, apparently, as he’d said two seconds before launching into his scary speech _—_ blinks. Foggy can barely see the motion through his dark glasses, but he can’t help but notice that it makes Matt look like a befuddled bird. The puzzled head tilt only furthers the illusion. 

 

“Oh.” Matt clears his throat and smiles back just as awkwardly. “Sorry. It comes up a lot. I find it’s better to just get it out of the way.”

 

“Right, and threaten people _before_ they screw with you. Solid strategy.” Foggy approves, still a bit concerned that he’s going to get hexed. “Should have used it myself back in my weekend Charm School.”

 

Of course, if he’d done that people probably wouldn’t have listened. Foggy’s not exactly the most menacing individual until he turns your Pepper-Up potion into ghost pepper sauce right before you drink it. _That_ gets people to listen. Foggy gets the feeling that Matt is talking about a hell of a lot more than an innocent pepper-based prank, though. Luckily Foggy’s not the kind of guy to take advantage of anything or anyone.

 

Matt laughs sheepishly.

 

“I shouldn’t have assumed.” He apologizes. “I get a little jaded sometimes.” He hesitates. “So, you don’t mind my being blind?”

 

Foggy shrugs easily, because of the two? Being threatened is significantly more of an issue than a guy with vision troubles.

 

“Nah, it’s cool.” He waves off Matt’s concern. As long as Foggy’s nice to Matt, it shouldn’t be a problem. No retaliation needed. “You got any other fun personal details you want to threaten me about while you've got your groove on?”

 

He might as well get them all out of the way now.

 

Matt is quiet for a long moment, and Foggy realizes that there _is_ something else Matt’s going to threaten him about. God, is it going to be like this for three years? Just getting constantly menaced by his prickly roommate?

 

“I use some Muggle technology to help me deal with it.” Matt offers slowly. “Is that going to be a problem?”

 

Foggy snorts. That was almost a letdown, honestly. He was expecting something like Matt being from one of those strange Satanist covens that likes to write all their notes in blood and frequently summon up demonic familiars. Comparatively, this is quite tame.

 

“Muggle-raised.” Foggy claims proudly, pointing at himself. “My friends were using owls and quills and getting hand cramps from writing—I was using cell phones and computers and laughing at them. Did you know that Ilvermorny School  _bans_ electronics? Ugh, I cannot even imagine. And they're so stuck-up, just because they're _traditional_. Like, their curriculum isn't that great, you know? I took Advanced Calculus _and_  still managed to pass my Numerology exam with flying colors, and they're over there thinking basic Arithmancy is some great feat? Ha! As if. Uh...you didn't happen to go to Ilvermorny, did you?" Did he just stick his whole foot in his mouth and give Matt a real reason to punch his lights out? But Matt shakes his head, looking more than a little amused. Foggy relaxes with an exaggerated sigh and punches the air. "Alright! Another nontraditional Charm School boy. I think we’re the lucky ones.”

 

Matt grins at that and nods.

 

“I've always thought so.” He concedes. “I think those are my only concerns. You?”

 

Foggy considers. Matt appears to be genuinely curious, so now’s the time to confess to anything that might be a problem. That way Matt can’t say that Foggy didn’t warn him—although Foggy’s warning wouldn’t be anywhere near as terrifying as Matt’s was.

 

“I have a tendency to cast magic spontaneously in…certain situations.” Foggy tries carefully.

 

Matt smiles, nodding encouragingly.

 

“That’s not so bad.” He comforts, clearly relieved it’s not something awful like, say, being part of a Satanist coven that writes all their notes in blood and summons up demonic familiars. It's a genuine concern, okay? “What situations?”

 

Foggy shrugs, uncomfortable.

 

“Oh, you know. When I’m really happy, when I’m really sad.” He starts vaguely. When Matt keeps smiling, Foggy bites his lip and shifts awkwardly in place. He hates this part. “When I’m really, uh, excited.” It takes Matt about five seconds to put it together.

 

“Well. Alright then.” He mutters, looking about as awkward as Foggy feels. Foggy probably should have waited a bit longer to bring up this particular fun fact. Matt only barely stopped trying to threaten him. “I suppose you can put up spell-blocking wards before you put a sock on the door.” Foggy groans.

 

“Sorry.” He mumbles, embarrassed. “I promise I won’t do anything like that in our room. That’s not fair to you. Just…if I have a crush or something, you should probably know to duck if spoons start waltzing in the air. But let’s just focus on the happy/sad options.”

 

“Right. Let’s.” Matt agrees hastily, and to Foggy's relief Matt doesn't see fit to add a threat to that statement, just to drive the point home. “Anything else?”

 

Foggy thinks for a moment.

 

“I get drunk from just one shot of Firewhiskey.” He admits, abashed.

 

This actually got him into more trouble than the wild magic, in college. He couldn’t really keep up with the rest of his wizard fraternity when it came to parties, so he got stuck as the designated hangover potion brewer instead.

 

“I get drunk from one _sip.”_ Matt tells him cheerfully. Foggy whistles in appreciation.

 

“Looks like we’re sticking to Butterbeer and coffee.” He predicts. Matt nods agreeably. “I don’t watch Quidditch either.” Foggy warns him, because this confession thing seems to be working well and he might as well push his luck. The Quidditch thing is usually a deal breaker if the Firewhiskey and wild magic bits aren’t. People get weird about Quidditch, like it’s the only sport in the world and also some kind of religion.

 

Matt smirks, waving towards his glasses.

 

“Neither do I.” He offers wryly. Foggy can’t help laughing at that. Out of the corner of his eye, a colorful little welcome mat pops into existence in front of their dorm room door.

 

Wild magic. Very happy.

 

“Mr. Murdock, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

 

Matt’s smirk lightens into something genuinely delighted as he follows Foggy into their new room, Foggy nudging the new welcome mat fondly with his foot as he goes.

 

Matt does his unpacking manually, which Foggy has to admit is a good idea when he almost sends a textbook flying into the window instead of his bookcase with an errant flick of his wand. He might possibly have missed because he was watching Matt’s very nice backside when he leaned down to pick something up from his suitcase. Foggy snaps his eyes up to a decent level and vows that he will not ogle his roommate for the rest of forever. Really.

 

Matt flashes him an absently sweet smile when he turns around, and it’s adorable. Foggy’s wand almost slips from his fingers from the shock of the cuteness, and Foggy starts unpacking manually too before he ends up setting his suitcase on fire with a wrong spell. Apparently ogling isn’t the only danger here.

 

“Wow, nice wand.” Foggy says appreciatively when he sees it lying in Matt’s suitcase. He realizes a moment later that the compliment could be a double-entendre, but luckily Matt doesn’t seem to realize the same thing.

 

“Mm.” Matt plucks it from the suitcase and runs his finger down the grain of the wood tenderly. “It was my father’s. He was an amazing duelist.” The nostalgic smile fades a little and Matt swallows hard. “Just not a very lucky one.”

 

Ah, tragedy apparently struck. And if his dad was a _duelist,_ that tragedy was likely not a result of natural causes. Geez, poor guy. That must have been awful. Foggy’s glad he didn’t start asking the usual get-to-know-you question about family. That would have been sticking his foot in his mouth in the worst way.

 

Just saying ‘wow, that sucks, sorry for your loss’ seems kind of trite and dismissive, so Foggy thinks harder and reaches for something a little deeper.

 

“An heirloom wand.” Foggy notes. “That’s rare, working for two people in the same family. I heard that it means the new owner was close to the old one in spirit and mind. It’s a love bond.”

 

Matt blinks up at him, looking startled. He strokes the wand again and then holds it carefully in the ready position. A duelist’s stance.

 

“Red oak.” He tells Foggy pensively. “A hot temper and fast reactions—ideal for a dueling wand.” He smiles ruefully. “A perfect fit for both of us, really. He always said we were too alike for my own good.”

 

Well, Foggy can definitely see the ‘hot temper’ part just from Matt’s earlier threat. Apparently it’s a family trait. He wiggles his own wand.

 

“Rowan. I am apparently pure of heart. I have no _idea_ how I scammed the wandmaker so well.” He announces, and Matt laughs.

 

“I’m sure he knew what he was doing.” He wraps his own wand carefully in a soft, worn cloth and slips it into the drawer of his bedside table. Foggy tilts his head, confused.

 

“You don’t carry your wand around with you?” He asks, surprised. Matt shakes his head, shrugging.

 

“I don’t handle it much at all. I’m always afraid it will break if I’m too rough with it. I can be a little…reckless sometimes.” He says it with an interesting mix of pride and self-consciousness. Reckless. That might explain why Matt jumped the gun about threatening him, at least.

 

"You don't handle…” Oh. Foggy’s eyes widen. “You can do wandless magic?” Matt seems a bit taken aback by his loud outburst, but it’s just so _cool._ “That’s not fair. You’re going to outshine me in skill _and_ looks. Can you do non-verbal spells too? Like, do you say your incantations out loud?”

 

Matt is still and silent for a very long moment, obviously considering whether to lie or not. Then he shakes his head slowly with a guilty smile.

 

“Sorry, no.” He admits, and he looks honestly rueful in the face of Foggy's embittered sigh. “I never say incantations.”

 

Foggy groans, flopping down on his bed and yelping when he catches the corner of his hip of a textbook. He shoves it out of the way and goes back to wallowing.

 

“So you beat me on the LSATs, you beat me at casting spells, and you beat me at looking pretty. _And_ you seem really nice.” He squints up at Matt, glaring. “You’re a total asshole. Stop being perfect.”

 

Matt chuckles and keeps unpacking.

 

“I’ll do my best.” He promises with suitable solemnity, but then he ruins it a second later. “Don’t worry. It's not a contest.”

 

Foggy scoffs at this ridiculous assertion.

 

“That's what all the _winners_ say.” He mutters bitterly, and Matt's lip twitch into a wider grin for a moment before he seems to fight it down again. Foggy eyes him disgustedly. Ugh, that is the smile of a man that never loses. “So, anything else I should feel inferior about? Can you predict the future? Speak to dragons? Did you at any point make a DIY Time-Turner and go back in time to make yourself even more perfect?”

 

“No, no, and no.” Matt seems greatly amused. He hesitates. “I _can_ tell that you’re not really upset about this though. And you were telling the truth when you said you were alright with my blindness. You weren’t just being polite.”

 

So Matt can read emotions and lies, which means…

 

“You can read minds. Fuck, you’re a Legilimens too.” One of the hardest disciplines of magic, and Matt’s got it down pat. Jesus, who _taught_ this guy? Foggy's Charm School was a cakewalk compared to what Matt seems to have learned. “Do you have _any_ flaws, or are you just the best wizard in the world?”

 

Matt considers him for a moment, amusement fading to something thoughtful.

 

“I have far too many flaws, and I'm certainly not the best wizard in the world. I'm not the best person either.” He tells Foggy quietly. He pauses like he’s thinking of saying something else but isn’t sure he should. Finally he licks his lips and shrugs. “But I can try to be the best roommate.”

 

And Foggy sort of melts. Matt looks so earnest and kind. And sure, Foggy’s going to have to start researching Occlumency and how to block his thoughts from Matt—at least the ones about how cute Matt’s butt is—but Matt seems amazing enough that it’s worth the sacrifice. Besides, Matt will probably open up a heretofore-unattainable league of attractive people for Foggy to date (and thus avoid ogling Matt and his sweet smile). Foggy will be pretty by proxy. He can swing this.

 

“ _Second-_ best roommate.” Foggy decides. “I’ve got to be better than you at something.”

 

The welcome mat pops from the outside of their dorm to between their beds, happy and brightly colored.

 

_Welcome Home!_

And Foggy smiles. Home.

 

* * *

 

Foggy’s magic _really_ likes Matt.

 

Honestly, Foggy’s never had it misbehave like this before. Some of it’s simple—Matt’s coffee never goes cold, for example. Matt once put it in their pokey little freezer for three days just to check, and when he took it out hours later it was piping hot, fresh, and made with just as much cream and sugar as Matt likes. It was plain black and iced when Matt put it in. 

 

Matt loves this. Foggy doesn’t, because the coffee’s just the beginning.

 

Matt never needs an umbrella. He could stand outside in a torrential downpour and not get hit with a drop because Foggy’s magic shields him. _Foggy_ needs an umbrella, or at least a very good self-drying spell, because his own magic likes his best friend more than it likes Foggy.

 

Matt’s toast is always perfectly browned, and his shirts are always perfectly unwrinkled. More than once his ties have turned to a more flattering color while he’s wrapping them around his neck. Matt never steps in puddles and he never needs gloves in winter because Foggy’s magic keeps him warm and cozy. Once Matt mentions that he wishes his sheets were a little softer on his sensitive skin, and a second later Foggy’s magic has sparked. The sheets are now crimson silk and the bed’s become king size. This isn’t really practical in a dorm setting, although Foggy’s magic is quite clever with space and just merges their beds together instead of stretching the room.

 

Matt laughs at Foggy's indignant sputtering and Foggy sheepishly separates the beds again, but Matt keeps the resized sheets. Over the next few months they slowly acquire golden stitching along the seams in heart-themed filigree, although Matt doesn’t notice this. Foggy does, and it’s humiliating. It’s just that Foggy’s magic _loves_ Matt. It acts like a cross between a besotted puppy and a doting lover, and it’s infuriating because Foggy can’t control it. When he’s very happy, his magic goes haywire.

 

Matt makes him very, very happy.

 

Foggy’s been called into the dean’s office more than once for incidents. He’s recklessly endangering the safety of the entire wizarding community with his frequent outbursts of magic on campus in the presence of Muggle and Squib students, apparently. Foggy doesn’t really want to get sent to a remedial asylum for uncontrollable magic, so he just apologizes halfheartedly and acts like he’s a rebel who relishes breaking the rules. He’s got a reputation as a troublemaker, which Matt teases him about endlessly.

 

 _Foggy_ tells him to shut the hell up. Foggy’s _magic_  refills Matt’s cup with perfectly brewed coffee and fetches him a delicious biscotti for good measure. Together, they send Matt some pretty mixed messages.

 

So they drink a lot of hot coffee and walk through the rain without umbrellas, and they graduate with honors and without Foggy getting expelled for giving away the magic game. They both go to Landman and Zack, which is one of the few defense firms for magical folk in the country.

 

The welcome mat stays. Foggy’s taken to calling it the Welcome Matt Mat. When they move out of their dorm, the poor mat seems torn between the two of them. It eventually starts cycling between their apartments, sort of like a strange shared custody arrangement. What Foggy’s neighbors think of the weird welcome mat that’s only there every other day, Foggy has no idea.

 

Matt’s ridiculously noble, of course. They get _so close_ to getting promoted. They are actually scheduled for their entry interviews and magical practical exams, and Matt decides that _now_ is the time to jump ship. All they have to do is kiss a few asses to secure the spots, cast a few spells to prove they’re competent, and they could be wealthy and successful beyond their wildest dreams. Foggy’s been working towards this for _years,_ and Matt has to ruin it in two minutes just by looking all noble and brave and saying that Landman and Zack is sending the wrong message to the wizarding community.

 

He’s right, of course. Landman and Zack is one of those companies that are run almost entirely by elitist wizards and witches that don’t like Muggles. They don’t like most wizards either—if you’re not wealthy and connected, you’re not even worth sneezing at.

 

“But we’d be so _rich.”_ Foggy complains, flopping down in his ridiculously comfortable chair. It’s charmed to be impossibly plush and perfect, and Foggy doesn’t want to give it up. “Don’t you want to be rich?”

 

Matt shakes his head, the monetarily masochistic moron.

 

“Money can’t buy happiness, Foggy.” He offers, and he sounds so sage that Foggy sort of wants to slap him. Stupid wise Matt. “Do you really think you could last much longer here? You’d burn out even faster than I would.”

 

“That is so not true.” Foggy argues hotly. “I would be glad to live with no integrity, as long as it came with this chair and several giant piles of Galleons.” Matt waits, serene. Foggy groans, letting his head fall back against the headrest of his ridiculously comfortable chair. “ _Fine._ I hate you. You suck.”

 

Matt gives him a stunning smile.

 

“You’re making the right choice.” He assures Foggy gratefully. Foggy sighs, patting the armrests of his chair goodbye. The best chair in the world, gone. Foggy thinks bitterly that his magic could probably make _Matt_ a chair just like this from a step-stool, but as soon as Foggy wants something his magic goes mediocre again.

 

Traitor. 

 

Foggy waves his wand and watches as his paperwork sorts itself out for the day and _forever_ since he’s quitting like an idiot. A few rogue pieces of paper flutter at Matt in a lovesick manner until Foggy glares them into submission.

 

“Hello morality. Goodbye money.”

 

* * *

 

For their first case, they rescue a very pretty Muggle woman and break a very important wizarding law: You do not reveal magic to Muggles.

 

Now, Foggy has obviously skated on pretty thin ice when it comes to this rule, what with his magic’s flamboyant overtures of affection towards Matt in front of others. He’s never outright _told_ someone about magic though. He’s been smart. But Karen comes to see them, and she talks about a man that tried to kill her and another man that saved her life, and apparently the man that tried to kill her was tossing curses around like confetti during the skirmish. She saw every second, and now she’s not sure if she’s crazy or drugged like before or something even worse.

 

Matt sits her right down and tells her all about wizards and witches and everything that you’re _not supposed to talk about_ , blatantly breaking the Statute of Secrecy in the process. Then he blinks those doe eyes that somehow work devastatingly well even through glasses, bats his stupidly long eyelashes at Foggy and adds just the slightest lip tremble like he might start crying in the face of Foggy's cruel, _legal_ silence. Foggy lasts about a minute before he breaks the law too.

 

He casts a few flashy but harmless spells to convince Karen she’s not nuts, and they sit in the office and talk while filling out the proper forms. It’s not easy convincing the government that you really needed to tell a Muggle about magic, and you really need them to _not_ be Obliviated after the fact. Usually you can get away with it when you’re talking about a spouse—a near-stranger who just got out of Muggle jail is a harder case to argue.

 

“I mean, she might count as a coworker.” Foggy offers, squinting down at the paper. “Or an interpreter? A Muggle liaison, maybe. Karen?”

 

Karen nods eagerly.

 

“Secretary and Muggle liaison.” She chirps, and then considers. “It’s a weird word, ‘Muggle’. I don’t _feel_ like a Muggle.” 

 

Foggy shrugs, unconcerned. It's a weird word, yeah, especially for newbies.

 

“You can just be a ‘Karen’ then.” He offers lightly, and Karen laughs. Foggy grins. Yes, this is seeming like a better idea every moment. Someone else to laugh at his genius witticisms.

 

Matt seems to agree with him. When Karen’s finally gone home for the night, promising to see them again in the morning for her first day of work, Matt wraps an arm around Foggy’s shoulders and shakes him gently.

 

“See? I told you it was the right choice.” He gloats warmly. “Our first client _and_ an expanding workforce.”

 

Foggy snorts, folding up the request papers to put in a manila envelope. Sealing wax, he thinks. They really like the sealing wax—the stuffier the presentation, the more likely they are to say yes. He’ll have to transfigure some later.

 

“A client that can’t pay _us_ and a secretary that _we_ can’t pay.” Foggy counters sweetly. Matt gives the stupid doe eyes again, and the bastard took his glasses off sometime after Karen left. He _knows_ that the doe eyes are more effective than an Imperius curse, at least when it comes to Foggy.

 

Foggy grits his teeth and refuses to give in.

 

“You like her.” Matt urges, because he's really quite ruthless and Foggy can't even deny it. He likes Karen a lot. He wouldn't bother with all this dumb paperwork for just anyone. “And you like this. It’s much better than Landman and Zack, right?”

 

And he actually sounds uncertain, a little timid. Foggy’s not sure if that’s another layer of the doe-eyed con, or if Matt’s honestly worried about Foggy regretting his choice. It’s probably the first one, but Foggy’s not taking any chances.

 

“‘Nelson and Murdock’ _does_ sound much less pretentious than ‘Landman and Zack’.” Foggy offers kindly. “But we’ll have to branch out into standard Muggle law instead of focusing just on wizards if we want to stay afloat…and that was your plan the whole time, wasn’t it? This just sped things up.” He realizes, eyes narrowing.

 

Matt smiles twitchily.

 

“No.” He lies shamelessly. “But we have our dual degrees anyway, and a Muggle/magic hybrid business model makes the most sense. Just economically speaking.” He hastens to add this hopeful tidbit when it's clear Foggy's not buying. Foggy groans, rubbing at his temples as a headache brews. Stupid, _stupid_ , noble Matt. He just has to save the whole world, doesn't he? Muggles or wizards, it doesn't matter to him. He wants to save them all. 

 

“You do realize how hard it will be, hiding our special hobbies from nine-tenths of our clientele?” He checks. Matt answers immediately, which makes sense. He’s clearly been thinking about this for a while.

 

"Trust me, it's easier than you think." Matt assures him like he actually knows. "As long as you say and do the right things, they'll never suspect a thing. Muggles _or_ wizards." Foggy snorts.

 

"Well, look who's suddenly an expert. You spilled your guts to Karen within a week." Foggy huffs, unimpressed. "Face it, you can't keep a secret. You're a terrible actor, Matt." Matt smiles with an air of such affected innocence that Foggy almost reconsiders that assumption. Matt  _is_ a terrible actor, right? Unless he's just  _acting_ like a terrible actor. That...makes Foggy's brain hurt. He shakes it off. Matt's just a terrible actor that  _thinks_ he's a good actor. 

 

Right?

 

"So I'll practice." Matt offers generously. "And we'll see how many lies I get caught in." Foggy watches him warily. Matt's a bad actor and he's a worse liar. He  _is._ "Besides, it will be worth every single deception if means we can do the right thing. You know that, right?" 

 

And yeah, Foggy would love to work with both sets of clients. People are people, and people need good lawyers. It’s just…it’ll be _a lot_ of work. Much more than just sitting in a ridiculously comfortable chair and jumping when his bosses say jump.

 

Foggy sighs.

 

"Yeah, I know." He mumbles miserably. Matt just can't let him be grumpy and pessimistic for more than a second, can he?

 

“Think of how much good we’ll do, Foggy.” Matt whispers, smile soft with wistful anticipation. 

 

Idealistic asshole. Matt could live off romanticism and morning dew, honestly. Foggy’s the realist. He’s the one who has to handle the practical parts and keep Matt from skipping right off an idealistic cliff.

 

Matt’s the dreamer, and Foggy loves him for it.

 

“I learned a spell that can turn water into wine.” He offers casually, leaning into Matt’s hold. “So if you wanted a practical demonstration, we could drink booze and eat delicious snack foods to celebrate our impending poverty?”

 

Water to wine is something Foggy can do. Water to money so he can buy _good_ wine? Not so much. But they’ll survive. Foggy can live with fake wine if it means that Matt can keep dreaming.

 

"You know, in my faith water-to-wine transfigurations are considered miracles." Matt muses idly. He glances towards Foggy. "I suppose you _are_  a saint for putting up with me." Foggy opens his mouth to say something snarky about sainthood, but Matt's not done. "And maybe you're a miracle too." 

 

He says it with such a sense of bone-deep gratitude that it almost aches in _Foggy's_ bones too. Matt doesn't sound like he's joking. 

 

A  _miracle._

 

"If I count as a miracle, you should probably switch religions." Foggy jests weakly. Matt shakes his head.

 

"If you count as a miracle, then I obviously chose the _right_ religion." He argues gently. "I never let myself hope that I could have any of this. I didn't think it was really possible until I met you." He waves around the room. "I know that I'll be able to go to work in the morning and love what I do, and I'll be able to go home at night knowing that I made a difference, and I'll have the perfect partner with me every step of the way. That's more than luck or magic. That's a miracle." 

 

Foggy looks at their new office. Peeling paint on the walls, dingy rugs, and Foggy is relatively sure that the building has a Doxy infestation. It's probably going to be a struggle getting clients, even with their progressive new business plan, and even with their savings from Landman and Zack money is going to be tight for the foreseeable future. It's not exactly a charmed life.

 

But Foggy can paint the walls and use a cleaning charm on the rugs, and there are plenty of humane ways to shoo Doxies away without incurring their wrath. Foggy's used to living on a shoestring budget, and he'll make do. After all, he's the perfect partner. He's a  _miracle._

 

 _"_ Hallelujah." Foggy teases, but it isn't as flippant as he was aiming for. It's far too warm, and Matt squeezes Foggy's shoulders a little tighter and presses a quick kiss to his temple. Foggy ends up staring blankly into space, trying desperately to block out all thoughts of 'I love you' from his mind so Matt can't find them. He catches Matt's sweet smile out of the corner of his eye, and he thinks that Matt might have a point. Foggy never dreamed that someone would smile at him like that, and yet here Matt is. A miracle.

 

"Hallelujah. The best magic word in the world." 

 

* * *

 

Karen’s cool about the magic.

 

She really wins Foggy over when the owl comes with news on their Statute of Secrecy breach application. Owl, right. Of course the Magical Congress of the United States of America hasn’t figured out how to use a _phone_ yet, or maybe they just don’t care. For the MACUSA, tradition is key.

 

It’s a grudging yes, but that’s not the part that makes Foggy smile. Karen completely ignores the good news in favor of stroking the messenger owl’s tawny feathers, and she looks so genuinely delighted at the opportunity for animal cuddles that Foggy is convinced on the spot that she's a keeper. He was trying his best to be welcoming before, but he was still holding back a little. After the owl, he stops trying. Soon he’s got charms bouncing off the walls every hour of the workday.

 

Karen accepts every single spell without batting an eye, although she does like to ask questions. Foggy eventually starts letting her read his old textbooks because it’s easier than trying to keep up with all the inquiries.

 

And she’s _good._ Foggy thinks she could probably outscore most of his old Charm School class in terms of knowledge, given enough time to study the material. Honestly, she could probably trick people into believing that she was a witch if she tried hard enough. If she had a wand and some robes, it would be the perfect disguise. She _doesn’t_ have a wand, and she _can’t_ do the spells, but she doesn’t seem to mind that much. She still has fun with the theory.

 

“I think it’s an artichoke.” Foggy decides, shaking his teacup a little to get a better look. He glances at his book. “Oh, that’s not good. A secret trouble that will bring sadness.”

 

Karen swipes the cup out of his hand and peers down at it.

 

“Apple.” She corrects him, staring intently, checking the text. “Happiness and good fortune.”

 

Foggy snorts.

 

“You cheat.” He accuses. “You can’t always pick the good answers.”

 

“I don't pick.” Karen protests innocently. “The spirits guide me.” Foggy rolls his eyes in the face of this utter BS, the kind his old divination tutor would lap up like ambrosia, and Karen grins. “We should read Matt’s fortune too.”

 

Foggy looks over towards Matt eagerly.

 

"Matt, how would you like a fantastical peek into the future? Perhaps you'll glimpse glory, or find a flash of fame, or perhaps even sense your soulmate?" If Foggy happens to see his own name in Matt's tea leaves on the soulmate question, well. That's just the _spirits guiding him.  
_

 

Matt waves them off without even looking up from his book. He doesn't even have to  _look_ at his book. He's being deliberately sassy about it.

 

“I don’t believe in divination.” He explains absently. “Self-fulfilling prophesy. Besides, I don't need dating advice from soggy plant sediment.”

 

Ouch. Foggy's already asked three questions this round about how to woo his future lover. A _hypothetical_ future lover, obviously, although neither Karen nor the tea leaves seem to buy Foggy's assurances on this point. 

 

Karen pouts.

 

“It’s just for fun.” She points out logically. She turns back towards Foggy. “We should do it anyway.”

 

Foggy looks back at Matt, who is sipping from the cup of tea that Foggy made him this morning from the pot. Matt goes very still, and Foggy wonders if he can somehow feel Foggy’s plotting.

 

“No, Foggy.” He orders firmly. Foggy flicks his wand anyway and grabs Matt’s teacup when it sails towards him. “This is ridiculous. I won’t even be able to tell if you’re lying about my fortune or not.”

 

Despite his complaints, Matt’s getting up and heading over to where they’re camped out on the floor. He settles down next to Foggy, legs crossed, and Foggy bumps their shoulders together happily. Matt returns the motion, a reluctant smile playing around his mouth. Foggy jumps a little when he feels a tentative hand brush against his where it rests on his divination book, but he doesn't pull away. Actually, he just sort of beams like an idiot and brushes Matt's hand back when he idly turns a page for no legitimate reason. Matt's hand rises with the motion and then settles down on the fresh page. Right next to Foggy's hand. Again. Foggy cautiously inches his hand over just that last bit of distance, until his pinky finger brushes against Matt's, and then he dares a glance at Matt's face. Matt flashes Foggy an absent, reassuring smile and he doesn't move his hand away, not one bit. Foggy feels like he might erupt into a one-man celebratory fireworks display. 

 

His tea leaves said being bold in romance would lead him to bliss. Foggy thinks touching Matt's pinky is a pretty damn bold move.

 

“I think you’ll be able to tell.” Foggy claims dryly, playing it cool. Sure he's still grinning goofily and his pinky tingles, but he's totally chill.

 

Matt’s Legilimency never seems to turn off. He can constantly call Foggy out on a lie. He always knows when Foggy’s near tears, and he’ll just settle down next to him with blankets and tissues and hold him until Foggy feels better. He knows when Foggy’s happy or angry or excited, and he knows exactly what Foggy needs at any given time. Really, the only thing Foggy tries to _hide_ from Matt’s mind-reading is the fact that he sort of thinks Matt’s the best thing since Chocolate Frogs. Since Matt’s never brought it up, Foggy assumes he’s been successful in his Occlumency experiments.

 

Matt says he doesn’t cast any charms to keep his Legilimency going, at least not consciously. It’s been like that since the curse, Matt tells him. Matt woke up in the hospital when he was nine years old, and he found a world burning with flame and screaming with sound. Foggy’s magic manifested in colorful bubbles of light that he played with and giggled over in his crib. Matt’s magic manifested in a survival mechanism that made his whole world catch fire.

 

The world really isn’t fair.

 

Matt smiles at him and shrugs, although he looks quite smug. Foggy reminds himself that there’s no reason to feel pity for Matt’s past. Matt’s the best person that Foggy’s ever met, rough past and all.

 

“That sounds like a challenge.” Matt muses. “Alright. Impress me. What do I have to look forward to?" 

 

Karen’s much better at seeing shapes than Foggy is, so he passes over the cup. She turns the cup this way and that, trying to get the best idea.

 

“Buffalo.” She chooses finally, before looking down at her own open book. “A most unexpected and unusual happening, causing agitation and uncertainty.”

 

Foggy blinks.

 

“That’s surprisingly grim for you.” He points out, surprised. Karen blushes.

 

“Sorry, that must be wrong.” She excuses quickly. “Let me try again.” She stares down at the cup for a few more long moments. “Ram.” She picks again, firmly. She looks at the book. “An unpleasant person whom you would do well to avoid is indicated by this sign.”

 

“Jesus, Karen.” Foggy is honestly kind of worried. “Maybe a little less doom and gloom for our buddy here?” He bumps Matt’s shoulder again and Matt shoots him a tight smile, but his features are pale and his jaw is tense. “Or maybe we could just stop and have some lunch instead.”

 

Matt clearly isn’t enjoying this. It’s not quite so fun anymore.

 

“Just one more.” Karen begs. “I’ll do better this time.” She _glares_ down at the cup. “Bull. It’s got to be a bull.” She mutters, and flips frantically through the pages of the book. “Bull: An ill omen of misfortune, attacks of pain, or slander by some enemy. If it gallops with tail up, expect personal danger or illness for…for someone dear to you.”

 

Foggy nods sharply, reaching forward to snap the book closed.

 

“Well, I think that’s enough divination for the day.” He decides with forced cheer. _“_ I _predict_ some yummy sandwiches in our future, how about you?”

 

Karen nods quickly, looking guilty. Matt shakes his head.

 

“Is it galloping?” He wonders quietly. Karen hesitates, looking down at the cup. Foggy doesn’t hesitate at all, snagging the teacup and looking at the leaves for less than a second.

 

“It’s not a bull, galloping or otherwise.” He assures Matt. “It’s a man under a crescent moon. That means good news, fortune, and romance, and—oh, a visitor. So we’ll get a client and then get rich.” He pats Matt on the back. “Nice prophesy, Matty.”

 

Matt looks like he’s about to protest, and possibly ask Karen for more uncharacteristically gloomy fortunes. Lucky for Foggy’s sanity, there’s a knock on the door. All the charms freeze and everything slips back into place. The office is quiet. The knock comes again. Foggy beams.

 

“Oh, look. A _client_.” He announces smugly. “Time to get rich, and then we'll get to the romance." One day. Hopefully.

 

Karen looks excited and Matt looks slightly mollified, so Foggy counts his deception a successful one. He said something close enough to the truth that it apparently didn’t trip Matt’s lie-detecting Legilimency—or maybe Foggy’s just getting better at lying.

 

So they have a lovely chat with Mrs. Cardenas, and Matt and Karen flirt but that’s fine. If Matt’s flirting, he’s happy. Foggy plans to keep him that way. Foggy sits quietly to the side, pours the last of the tea into Matt’s cup and gulps it down so Matt’s tea leaves are ruined. They’re not Matt’s tea leaves anymore—it only works if you drank the tea, so now it’s _Foggy’s_ turn again.

 

Foggy glances down at the cup as Matt and Karen chatter with Mrs. Cardenas in rapid Spanish. He shouldn’t look—fortunes are clearly causing problems today—but he does. Foggy knows this one without even looking it up. It’s not a good omen.

 

Foggy looks at his tea leaves, and he sees a mask. He remembers the ascribed meaning from the book:

 

‘Mask: Unpleasant facts will come to light, of which at present there is no suspicion, leading to the abrupt ending of a relationship.’

 

A mask. Lies. Betrayal.

 

Foggy’s honestly not sure which fortune is worse. Foggy got a mask, but Matt got…

 

Foggy didn’t see a ram, or a bull, or a goat, or a man under a crescent moon. There _was_ a crescent shape, but it was sideways. The man wasn’t standing under it, but he was standing in front of it—maybe. They looked more like one shape than two. So, a man with a sideways crescent behind his head.

 

A man with horns.

 

A Devil.

 

* * *

 

“Did you _forget_ how to cast a shielding charm?”

 

Matt shrugs sheepishly.

 

“I was a bit distracted.” He admits, ducking his head briefly until Foggy nudges it back up with a disapproving tut for inspection. Foggy runs a finger over one of the worst cuts, right at the curve of Matt’s jaw. Almost his throat, Foggy thinks faintly. Just a few inches lower…

 

“I suck at healing.” Foggy scolds him. “You know I do. And you look like you just got hit by the Night Bus, and I can’t—“

 

“It’s okay.” Matt soothes, reaching up to touch Foggy’s hand where it rests against his jaw. “I’m going to the Healer again after work. I’ll be better by tomorrow.”

 

This is not nearly as comforting as Matt seems to think.

 

“This is you _after_ at least one session with a Healer?” He asks incredulously.

 

Matt winces, and Foggy realizes that he didn’t mean to give that part away. He just couldn’t help himself—Matt’s got a thing about consoling people, and it fries his common sense. He gives away all kinds of secrets when he’s trying to comfort Foggy.

 

“Doing it all at once would put a serious drain on the Healer.” Matt explains, the selfless bastard. That's what Healers get paid for, dummy. “This is easier, and it only takes a little more time.” He smiles winningly. “And _you_ seem perfectly healthy. You always were better at defense charms than me.” He adds in a shameless attempt at blandishment.

 

Foggy glares.

 

“Of course I am. I’ve never even seen you _cast_ a defense charm.” He accuses. “And your healing is even worse than mine.” Matt's healing skills are _nonexistent_ , actually. Foggy's never seen him cast a healing spell either.

 

 _Matt’s_ idea of a healing spell seems to be: 'Eh, the Muggle way works. I'll just rub some dirt in it. Why waste the magic?’ 

 

Macho idiot.

 

“I don’t end up battling many bombs, thank goodness, so it doesn’t come up much.” Matt says wryly. “Come on. We’re both okay, and Karen and Elena don’t have a scratch on them. You did a good job, Foggy.”

 

Foggy hesitates, but finds himself puffing up a little in pride despite himself.

 

“I was pretty awesome.” He confesses. “Even Elena was impressed, and she’s seen a lot of spells.”

 

Elena Cardenas apparently worked at a magical school in Spain and was one of their best teachers. She's encountered a lot of spells, but she'd said Foggy’s shield charm was the best she’d ever seen. Elena’s apartment had started spontaneously fixing itself all around them because Foggy was so happy at the praise.

 

“See? You’re amazing.” Matt tells him, low and kind and genuine. Foggy nods smugly.

 

“Karen said it was amazing too.” He tells Matt. “She was totally wowed, and she bought me one of the lovely Josie's mystery mixers as a thank you—I think there might have been some dragon blood in there, no lie. I got plastered. Karen basically had to carry me home.” He pokes Matt. “We missed you, man. I tried calling you like a dozen times.”

 

Matt looks honestly regretful.

 

“I do love listening to your surprisingly philosophical drunken ramblings.” He muses. “But I really couldn’t have come even if I wanted to.”

 

“Right.” Foggy feels instantly awful. Matt couldn’t come join the drunken revelry because he was off getting blown up, and then he was probably sitting in the hospital alone and hurt and Foggy was sipping weird mixed drinks. “Well, we can go later and engage in a philosophical drunken rambling debate.”

 

Matt smiles at him, grateful.

 

“I’d like that.” He offers quietly. Foggy beams and concentrates as hard as he can. He really isn’t great at healing spells, but he can do one little Episkey charm. It’s tricky, but he mentally reminds his magic that this is the guy they’re in love with, and the scrape slowly fades to smooth skin.

 

“There.” Foggy mutters proudly, a bit tired. He’s not a Healer—his specialty is making sure people don’t get hurt in the first place—so doing a spell like this gets pretty exhausting. “And you know, _you_ could call _me_ if you get hurt. I can’t patch you up much, but you know how good I am at calming and comfort charms.”

 

Matt’s smile softens.

 

"I know.” He agrees, gently rubbing the inside of Foggy’s wrist with his thumb. And that’s more effective than any calming or comfort charm that Foggy could cast. He basically melts into the touch. “Thank you, Foggy.”

 

Foggy only realizes that they’ve been standing there smiling at each other for god knows how long when Karen clears her throat. Foggy blinks at her and Matt pulls his hand away quickly. Foggy reluctantly lets his hand drop too, finding the energy to mutter a quick warming charm when his fingers feel suddenly, achingly cold at the loss.

 

“No, no. You two carry on.” Karen assures them, looking greatly amused. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just be doing paperwork.”

 

“Right.” Foggy says flatly, stepping away from where he was really standing far too close to Matt. “Let me help you with that. Matt?” Matt holds up his hands, walking backwards towards his office with unfair aptitude considering he’s blind and there are several stumbling blocks in his way, including the bedraggled box of lonely files that Foggy tripped over just twenty minutes ago.

 

“I’m still recovering.” He argues, guileless. “I’ll just fix some of my bruises while you work, and then you can show me this infamous dragon blood beverage later.”

 

“Liar. You _literally_ could not cast a healing spell to save your life.” Foggy calls out after him. Matt waves absently and closes his office door. “Bastard’s just going to be reading bawdy romance novels all day, and then he’s not even going to pay for the drinks. He always does this.” Foggy tells Karen, miffed, and she grins at him.

 

“You’re the nagging wife, aren’t you?” She guesses, entertained. “And he’s the forgetful husband.” Foggy snorts in derision.

 

“And _you’re_ the one who’s going to be doing all the paperwork today, missy.” He finishes pointedly. He pauses, uncertain and ruffled. “I don’t nag. I nurture.” He adds finally, petulant. “Matt totally _is_ forgetful though. I bet he’d forget his own birthday if I didn’t remind him, and he still doesn’t even let himself take a day off to celebrate. It’s all work with him and he really needs to take care of himself and indulge a little and remember that _I don’t nag, Karen.”_ He stops his tirade when he sees Karen’s self-satisfied face.

 

“Uh-huh.” She doesn’t look convinced. “Don’t worry. I think it’s sweet.”

 

“It’s not—“ Why is Foggy even arguing this? So what if Karen thinks he and Matt are together? They might as well be. All that’s missing is the smooching. “Whatever.”

 

Karen pats him comfortingly on the arm.

 

“There, there. I’m sure he remembers _your_ birthday.” Foggy can’t deny this. Matt is much more excited about celebrating Foggy’s birthday than his own, and it’s sort of adorable how into it he gets. Banners, candles, the whole nine yards. “And that’s what counts. He’s a very loving husb—“

 

“Stop right there.” Foggy warns her. “Do your paperwork, Ms. Paige.” Karen salutes him teasingly.

 

“Yes, Mr. Nelson-Murdock, sir.”

 

Foggy grits his teeth and ignores her.

 

Obviously they’d keep their names if they got married. ‘Nelson-Murdock and Nelson-Murdock’ just sounds ridiculous as a company name. Honestly. And it doesn’t even matter because they’re never _getting_ married. Matt’s not interested in him. Stroking Foggy’s wrist and smiling softly? Fine. Stroking the _fun_ parts of Foggy’s body and smiling softly? Nope. Never going to happen.

 

All of the light bulbs in the office dim at once, just as Foggy’s thoughts do.

 

Stupid mopey magic.

 

* * *

 

The thing is, Foggy can’t stop thinking about the tea leaves.

 

Matt’s idealism is tempered by a healthy dose of skepticism. It’s paradoxical, in a way. Matt’s hard to fool but he’s still naïve. He can sense the worst about people but he still likes them. He believes in God but not in divination. Foggy’s not quite as much of a cynic. He’s not going to win any prizes for soothsaying, but he thinks that everyone gets lucky sometimes. That’s how magic works—it’s kind of like playing mystical roulette.

 

Foggy’s tea leaves showed a mask. Matt’s tea leaves showed a Devil. Now there’s a _masked Devil_ running around Hell’s Kitchen, and he’s the reason Matt got hurt.

 

If you take the bull, ram and goat into consideration, Matt is in the clairvoyant crosshairs. Unwelcome surprises. An unpleasant stranger. Pain and misfortune.

 

Matt’s doomed.

 

“Would you let me cast a spell on you?” Foggy blurts out one day. Matt blinks at him, looking up from—yes, that is totally a bawdy romance novel, take _that_ Karen.

 

“You cast a spell on me every moment that I’m in your charming company.” Matt tells him wryly. “A spell of camaraderie and friendship. Our partnership is _magical._ ”

 

Foggy rolls his eyes at his ridiculous, ridiculous friend. Why does he put up with Matt again? 

 

“Yeah, magical—if you count _curses.”_ He mutters under his breath, and Matt grins gleefully at Foggy's halfhearted grumbling because he's a twisted person who enjoys others' misery. “No, I want to cast a spell to keep you safe.”

 

Matt goes very still. His grin vanishes like it was never there. He slowly closes his book and sets it aside.

 

“What kind of spell?” He wonders, guarded.

 

“Just an itty bitty one.” He assures Matt quickly. “It’d just be like a barometer, you know? So if you were in trouble, it would let me know and I could come help.”

 

Matt considers for a long moment.

 

“How would you know I was in trouble?” Matt asks cautiously. “What would this spell be tracking?” Foggy smirks, pleased and ready to show off.

 

“Okay, it’s a pretty sweet setup. I made it myself, and I think it’s kind of my magical magnum opus.” He’d poured his heart and soul into it, because it was for Matt. “It only activates under three circumstances: if you’re in serious physical danger, if your magic levels are critically low, or if you summon me with the right incantation. So it’s totally non-invasive. You won’t even know it’s there most of the time.”

 

Matt stays very silent. Eventually he reaches up and tugs off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes in something like agitation.

 

“It’s a very sweet offer, Foggy.” He starts, and Foggy is about to cheer and say he’ll go grab the chalk for the pentagram when Matt continues. “But I can’t accept.”

 

Foggy gapes at him, completely lost in the face of this insanity.

 

 _“What?”_ He yelps. “But it’s not—you really won’t even _notice_ it, and it’s really effective. It’ll only take a minute to cast.” Well, closer to an hour, but the timing’s not what’s important. What’s important is that once the spell is in place, Foggy will be able to keep Matt safe.

 

“And I appreciate that you’d be willing to do it, but I don’t really enjoy the idea of a spell monitoring all of my movements.” Matt says gently. Foggy opens his mouth to argue. “You’re an amazing wizard, but I can take care of myself.”

 

“But…” Foggy swallows. “It was just…I worry about you. I never see you anymore, and I can’t just stumble into the office with a hangover and find out that you got hurt while I was slacking off. I need to know.” No more of Josie's wicked elixirs when Matt’s in the hospital. “You can cast one on me too.” He offers hopefully. “That way it’s fair.”

 

If it’s just the privacy thing, that might make Matt feel better. Foggy wouldn’t mind have someone watching his back remotely either, at least if that someone was Matt. But Matt shakes his head, sighing.

 

“It’s not a matter of being fair, Foggy.” He says softly. “It’s just not something that I feel comfortable with. I’ll _tell_ you if I’m hurt and need your help, aright? Just let it be my choice.”

 

Foggy wants it to be Matt’s choice, but he wants Matt’s choice to be letting Foggy put the spell on him. Matt didn’t call when he was in the hospital after the bombs. He didn’t even Apparate over to Foggy’s apartment and say he was okay. He just showed up the next morning all busted up.

 

But that was a one-time thing, Foggy reminds himself stubbornly. Bombs don’t go off in Hell’s Kitchen every day. Foggy’s just being paranoid because of those tea leaves. And Matt says he’ll ask for help if he needs it…

 

“I’ll let you off this time.” Foggy haggles. “But if you ever show up with more than a paper cut again, I am putting this spell on you. Deal?” Matt nods, smiling brightly—probably in victory at being let off so easily.

 

“It’s a deal.” He agrees warmly. “I promise you won’t see so much as a bruise.” Foggy smiles back, relaxing a little.

 

“I’m liking the confidence.” He admits unwillingly. “But I spent ages coming up with that spell, and now it’s wasted. I’m disheartened and dejected. You know how you could make it up to me?” Matt winces.

 

“Softball?” He guesses, voice lukewarm and reluctant. Foggy makes a sound of enthusiastic agreement and nods. Matt strokes his book longingly before pushing it away and standing. “Is Karen coming?” Foggy shakes his head.

 

“She said she had something important to do. An errand or something, I don’t know.” He hesitates. “She’s got mace on her keychain, and she asked me yesterday about adding a stunning spell to it. She says she’s just worried about walking home alone, but when I offered to walk her home instead, she said no. So…” He nudges Matt. “You get anything from her mind?”

 

Normally Matt doesn’t like to share his observations—says it’s something like the vow of silence a priest takes—but in this case it’s their friend. It’s important.

 

“She’s still nervous about the wizard who attacked her.” He recalls. “And she’s keeping some sort of secret too. It’s hard to know the details, but she seems to be meeting someone. A man, wears a decent but cheap cologne.”

 

Foggy stares at him.

 

“Okay, that never stops being cool.” He confesses, impressed. Legilimency is possibly the most kickass skill on the planet. “Not a beau though, right? I mean, the cologne…”

 

“No, he’s significantly older and also quite close to another woman. I think she’s sick.” Matt muses. “Hospital, antiseptic and medicine.” He pauses, pensive. “I think the man might work with books or newspapers. There’s fresh ink and paper…” He stops, shrugging. “That’s all I can tell so far.”

 

“ _All_ you can tell?” Foggy repeats incredulously, snapping his wand towards his bag to summon it. “Matt, that was incredible. You got that all from Karen?” Matt looks shyly pleased, nodding. “You’re amazing. See, it’s annoying because I thought for sure I’d have found a flaw in you by now, but you’re still perfect. Asshole.” He adds, because that hasn’t changed either.

 

Matt smiles wider and steps to Foggy’s side, taking his arm. They’re in a Muggle office building, so they have to maintain the illusion. Matt’s quite careful—if there are any Muggles around, he has Foggy lead. Foggy is totally okay with this. Leading Matt is one of the highlights of his life.

 

The only problem arises when his magic starts making flowers grow in sidewalk cracks every time Matt laughs while holding his arm, but Foggy’s working on it. At least he’s got it down from roses to dandelions. Roses were hard to explain.

 

“I’m not perfect at softball.” Matt points out generously. “Even though I know the ball’s coming, I still miss. I’m terrible at it.” Foggy smirks and pats his arm.

 

“Why do you think I make you play with me so much? You make me look good.”

 

Matt glares, but it’s weak and there’s a soft fondness to his face. Foggy keeps walking, still smirking. He’s just summoning their bats when they find Karen, surrounded by not-very-nice men. Well, that explains the mace.

 

Foggy summons their softball bats at an angle to hit the not-very-nice men in the heads.

 

He and Matt spend the rest of the night talking to Karen and their new friend Ben about what’s going on. Matt seems to be in protective mode, because he stays practically glued to Foggy the whole time, something that Foggy is very on board with. He gives Foggy’s arm a meaningful squeeze when Ben introduces himself, and he doesn't let go of it after. Foggy’s guessing that this is the mysterious man with the decent but cheap cologne. He _does_ work at the newspaper, and he _does_ have a wife that’s sick.

 

Matt’s mind-reading skills are flawless.

 

Ben already knows about magic, interestingly enough. His wife, Doris, is apparently a witch, although Ben himself doesn’t have an iota of magic in him. Even with access to potions and Healers though, Doris is still ill. It’s bad. Ben doesn’t say it, but Foggy can tell.

 

But there’s no time for sympathy ( _now_ , although Foggy is going to visit Doris later and bring her the best homemade Cauldron Cakes in the world). They evidently have a kingpin to take down. Karen’s already committed, almost fanatically so. Ben’s an intrepid reporter who stops at nothing to get the truth, so he’s in for the long haul. Matt acts unwilling, says they should do things the official way, but Foggy can see he’s salivating at the thought of taking down a criminal.

 

Matt got into law for all the same reasons that Foggy did. He wants justice. Besides, it’s not like they’re _breaking_ the law. They’re just working _around_ it for a tiny bit.

 

Totally different.

 

* * *

 

Wilson Fisk isn't a wizard.

 

This is perhaps the most startling discovery of all. Sure, he’s an insane crime boss who likes to blow up cities in between corrupting entire corporations, but they already guessed that.

 

Foggy had sort of assumed about Fisk's magical status, considering a significant number of his accomplices seem to be wizards. Owlsley is just the beginning. High-level executives, Magical Congress officials, their old bosses at the illustrious and evil Landman and Zack—all powerful wizards and witches. Foggy’s never seen them work this well under one leader, and as intolerant as it sounds he honestly never thought that leader could be a Muggle. Wizards just don’t tend to respect them.

 

But Fisk knows too much for a Muggle.

 

“Gotta be a Squib.” Foggy hypothesizes thoughtfully. “He knows exactly how to work the crowds, magical _and_ Muggle.” He turns towards Matt. “Hey, we might actually have a Dark Lord who’s not a wizard. That’s pretty cool.”

 

Matt does not look interested in this hypothetical prospect.

 

“He’s a monster, Foggy.” He says with a low current of darkness to his voice that actually takes Foggy aback for a second.

 

“Not because he’s a Squib though.” He checks cautiously, because Matt sounds pretty hostile. Some wizards can get pissy about Squibs, but Matt doesn’t seem like he’d be one of them. “Right?”

 

Matt waves off his concern.

 

“Squibs are fine. I quite like them, actually. Besides, magic doesn’t make you good or evil.” He assures Foggy confidently. “No, he’s a monster because of _who_ he is, not what.”

 

“I mean, can he really be worse than Voldemort or Grindelwald?” Foggy tries optimistically. “At least he’s probably not going to be into non-magical ethnic cleansing, because of—well, the whole ‘being non-magical’ thing.” Matt glares, and Foggy sighs. “Right, enough looking on the bright side of things. Back to gloomy. Is his girlfriend magical or not?”

 

Matt considers.

 

“Muggle, I think.” He decides tentatively. “She works at a Muggle gallery and doesn’t cast spells, and she understood every Muggle pop culture reference I brought up.”

 

“But she knows about magic too?” Foggy asks, concerned.

 

It seems like a significant security breach. Fisk’s got a pass—Squibs grow up with magical families, even if they can’t cast spells, so they’re in on everything from the start. A Muggle art dealer and dozens of Muggle criminals though? So very not allowed. Why hasn’t the Congress called them in yet for breaking the Statute of Secrecy?

 

Oh, right. Because half the Magical Congress employees in New York are on their payroll.

 

“I think so.” Matt admits, and he seems uneasy about it too. “With supporters on Muggle and magical fronts, he’s got a solid grip on the city. If he goes public, things will be even worse. He could become a beacon of tolerance and unity if he plays his cards right.”

 

He sounds disgusted at the idea, and it’s not because he doesn’t like tolerance and unity. The thought that Fisk could get away with his crimes and actually get _applauded_ for it is hard to swallow. It’s getting to Matt much more than it’s getting to Foggy, though. It had taken twenty spells to fix Matt’s laptop after he smashed it against the wall, and the screen still flickers a little from the ill treatment—not that screen quality matters much to Matt, but the poor computer’s been through hell.

 

Matt doesn’t take bad news very well.

 

“We’ll stop him before that.” Foggy soothes, surreptitiously summoning Matt’s laptop from the corner of Matt’s desk. No more computer-smashing tonight, no matter how therapeutic Matt seems to find it.

 

“Will we?” Matt asks bitterly. “Nothing we have is going to stick. He covers his tracks too well. And things will just get worse, Foggy. We need to do something. _I_ need to do something. We’re just sitting here and letting him _win._ ”

 

He actually starts groping around for his laptop, Foggy notes incredulously. He’s totally going to try and smash it again. Foggy sighs, vanishes the laptop to Matt’s bedroom and goes to where Matt’s sitting and seething on the couch.

 

“Charm therapy?” He tempts. Matt shakes his head stubbornly, and Foggy shakes his wand enticingly. “Come on. You love charm therapy.”

 

“It won’t help this time, Foggy.” Matt grumbles, rather dramatically. “Magic doesn’t fix everything.” He sounds remarkably bitter about this fact.

 

“Let me try.” He begs. Matt shakes his head again, and he’s like a _child_ sometimes, honestly. “Please, Matt? For me?” Matt stays tense for a moment, poised to refuse, but then he slumps and nods. Foggy beams and waves his wand.

 

Those bright, rainbow bubbles he made as a baby are still one of his favorite charms. He’s found that they’re one of Matt’s too. He sends a dozen or so drifting over to Matt, and Matt reaches out to touch them.

 

“They’re always so _warm._ ” He sighs, tapping one with his index finger and sending it bobbing away cheerfully before it darts back towards him. “Come here, you.”

 

He holds out a hand and the shimmering bubble nestles into it happily.

 

“The red ones always like you so much.” Foggy notes fondly. Matt smiles softly and strokes the bright red bubble. He looks pleased at the idea. “They should all work the same, but the red ones love you.”

 

The other colors hover happily, but the one red stays cuddled in Matt’s palm and another swoops down to nuzzle Matt’s cheek. Matt laughs and strokes it once with his free hand.

 

“Do you make them like me?” Matt wonders. “Is that part of the spell?” Foggy shakes his head, leaning against the wall and watching Matt playing with the bubbles.

 

“Nope. I can cast them, but I can’t control them. Part of the wild magic, I think. They’re good judges of character though—they attacked my cousin once when she was teasing me.” One of the bubbles rolls happily over Matt’s shoulders. 

 

Matt nods absently, still smiling and toying with the bubbles. He’s bouncing them between his hands, rolling them up over his palms and flicking his fingers to send them back and forth.

 

Foggy’s eyes follow the graceful arc of the lights and the even more graceful movement of Matt’s fingers. It's hypnotic, simple yet soothing. 

 

“I grew up with wizards, you know.” Matt muses absently. “My father, the people at the orphanage. I’ve been around this sort of thing my whole life, but I never knew how beautiful it could be until I met you.”

 

Foggy’s suave leaning position is jeopardized when he loses his balance. The raw sincerity and affection of the comment is enough to make his knees weak. He catches himself on the corner of Matt’s kitchen counter and straightens back up, hopefully before Matt notices. It was kind of a loud thunk, but Foggy hopes nonetheless. 

 

“Uh, really?” Foggy asks, voice a bit too high. _Christ,_ Foggy wants to kiss him for that comment, just walk right over and maybe climb into Matt’s lap and—and Matt can read minds. Stop thinking about it. Now. “I mean, I’m pretty average. The wild stuff’s unusual, but it’s usually considered more freaky than fantastic.”

 

Matt shakes his head.

 

“It _is_ fantastic.” He argues earnestly. “You make magic feel…like _magic._ Most wizards take it for granted. They see it as a tool rather than a gift, but you’re not like that. You love it.” He considers. “I think that might be why your magic works the way it does. You don’t whittle it down to routine spells just to fit in. It’s free.”

 

“It’s _stubborn.”_ Foggy corrects him. “Just as stubborn as I am.”

 

Matt grins at him.

 

“I like stubborn.” He offers kindly, flicking one of the bubbles towards Foggy. Foggy catches it with a wry smile and tosses it back.

 

Matt sucks at softball, but he’s good at this. Amazing reflexes, and Foggy's not sure if Matt can sense magic or heat or something but he always knows where the bubbles are. They spend the next few minutes tossing the red bubble back and forth. Foggy watches smugly as Matt relaxes more and more, smile warm and delighted.

 

Fisk is still a problem. There are a million other problems too, ranging from their struggling firm to Foggy _still_ being in love with Matt, but right now they’re okay.

 

The bubbles burst into showers of crimson sparks and flutter down around them. Matt gives a startled laugh and says that it feels like a rainstorm, electric air and warm drops on his skin. He’s practically glowing in the glimmering red lights, lit up like an ember, and he looks like some sort of lost creature of legend. A phoenix burning bright with fire. _Happy._ Foggy’s breath catches at the sight, and he’s happy too.

 

Charm therapy works every time. For both of them.

 

* * *

 

The sign appears after Foggy has a dream.

 

It’s a dream about Matt, of course. So many of Foggy’s dreams are. It’s not even a dirty dream—although _so very many_ of Foggy’s dreams are.

 

It’s actually just Matt eating breakfast with him like they used to at Columbia. Matt’s dressed in the polka dot pajamas that Foggy bought him as a gag gift once, and they’re having perfectly browned toast and hot coffee. The only difference between the dream and the past is that they’re in Matt’s apartment and it’s _not_ Matt’s apartment.

 

It’s _their_ apartment, and there’s the Welcome Matt Mat at the door and Foggy’s toothbrush in the bathroom. Matt’s taken his wand out of his bedside drawer and it’s resting on the kitchen table right next to Foggy’s. Matt’s red oak and Foggy’s rowan, and they look perfect together. Foggy’s magic _loves_ it here. The very air is humming with it, and Foggy thinks Matt could probably ask for anything in the world in this place and Foggy’s magic would give it to him. Anything to make Matt happy, as happy as Foggy is at this moment.

 

What Matt asks for is a kiss.

 

Foggy wakes up smiling, and when he walks into his kitchen he sees the sign on the table. Gleaming brass with delicate etchings all around the border, tiny runes hidden in the curls and twists that no one will see unless they know how to look. They’re raised just a little though, and Foggy knows that Matt will be able to feel them just as easily as Foggy can see them. Protection. Luck. Joy. Love.

 

And right in the middle, there are the words Foggy's been dreaming about for years.  _Nelson and Murdock: Attorneys at Law._

 

It’s perfect, and Foggy spends all morning grinning at it, waiting as long as possible to tuck it away in his bag. No professional could do better, and Foggy couldn’t either if he was actually _trying._ Foggy’s magic works with emotions, not with incantations. Matt makes him feel so many emotions, every day, every moment. Foggy’s so-so at spells unless he’s casting them for Matt. Then he’s phenomenal.

 

Matt makes Foggy a better wizard than Foggy actually _is._

 

Foggy can tell that Matt’s still a little down about the whole Fisk situation, so Foggy flourishes the sign with a grand ‘tada’, and Matt takes it with an exasperated smile. His smile fades as he reads the sign, but Foggy doesn’t think it’s because he’s unhappy.

 

“You made this, didn’t you?” He murmurs, eyes closed as he runs his fingers over their names. "I can tell." Foggy shrugs bashfully.

 

“Well, yeah. You know. Nothing like arts and crafts to take your mind off the stresses of overthrowing a criminal empire.”

 

“It’s beautiful, Foggy.” Matt says, and his voice is thick with emotion. He turns towards Karen. “See, _this_ is what magic is supposed to be. Not the flashy charms or the hocus-pocus. Just…this.” He smiles tenderly down at the sign, cradling it like a newborn.

 

“I do like it.” Karen admits. “Can I?” She holds out a hand to take the sign, and Foggy thinks she’s probably going to poke and prod it to see if it sings or something. She can’t quite feel the magic like Matt seems to, and a shiny sign is nice but not incredibly impressive by itself.

 

Matt holds the sign tighter and takes a small step back.

 

“In a second.” He begs. “I just want to figure out the runes. There are so many…” He brushes his index finger across the curve of one. “It’s just intellectual curiosity.”

 

Karen doesn’t seem disappointed. In fact, she looks knowingly pleased.

 

“Take your time.” She encourages kindly. “It really is a lovely sign.” Matt sighs happily.

 

“It really is.”

 

Foggy notes with glee that Matt’s practically cuddling the sign throughout the morning. He keeps saying with great authority that he’s going to start working in a minute, and then he spends the next _two_ minutes cuddling the sign.

 

Karen’s phone rings during one of the cuddling periods, and the perfect morning goes downhill very fast.

 

An hour later, they’re gathered around Elena’s hospital bed. Karen’s crying, Foggy’s a little teary-eyed himself, and Matt looks like he dearly wants to curse someone into dust. Preferably Elena’s attacker, Foggy thinks.

 

“She’ll be okay.” Foggy says, and he’s saying it to himself just as much as he’s saying it to them. “She was strong enough to cast a stasis charm _and_ send a distress call. That’s complicated stuff.”

 

Matt's tapping his fingers gently against his thigh. Foggy wonders if he’s reaching for his wand by reflex. He still doesn’t carry it with him, but Foggy himself uses his rowan wand as much for comfort as he does for spells. It makes him feel safer, having it nearby. Maybe Matt feels the same thing.

 

“I hope she hurt him.” Matt says quietly. “I hope she snapped his wand and he can never cast another spell in his life.”

 

Karen bites her lip and nods.

 

“Me too.” Foggy sighs. “We’ll ask her when she wakes up, yeah?”

 

Elena should wake up soon. The nurse said that she’d recover, although it might take a while. They’ve kept her under the stasis, but she’s healing. Slowly, but she’s healing.

 

It was too close. Foggy hates it. He wonders if one of them will be next. He desperately hopes that Matt starts carrying his wand, if only to make _Foggy_ feel safer.

 

It’s only a few hours later, when it’s just starting to get dark, that Matt announces he’s going to head out. Foggy’s surprised, to he honest. Of the three of them, Foggy pegged Matt as the most likely to go for a silent sentinel thing. Foggy had been expecting a bedside vigil with a solemn air, and he’d be the one who would eventually have to pry Matt away from his unofficial guard duties.

 

“I think I’m going to stay a little longer.” Karen tells them, sitting by Elena’s bed and holding her hand. She might not have a wand, but Foggy thinks she’ll watch over Elena just as fiercely as Matt or Foggy would.

 

“Yeah, I’ll stay too.” Foggy decides slowly, frowning at Matt. It really does seem out-of-character, him just leaving like this. “You sure you want to go? We can tell Elena funny stories about our wacky law school adventures to try and perk her up.”

 

Foggy has no idea if Elena can hear them while she’s in a healing sleep, but it’s worth a try. It’s hard to tell the funny stories without Matt’s dry-wit input, though.

 

Matt shakes his head, looking regretful.

 

“I just have to go home and water my Devil’s Snare.”

 

Foggy blinks at him.

 

“You have a Devil’s Snare?” He asks, flabbergasted in the face of this explanation. “Since when?”

 

“Since recently.” Matt informs him primly. “You’re always telling me to decorate my apartment more.”

 

“Uh, yeah, but not with demon plants that like to strangle people.” Foggy clarifies, still baffled. “You have a strange sense of home décor.”

 

Karen looks a bit uneasy at the thought of a killer plant, and Foggy is in full agreement with her on that sentiment. How Matt even got ahold of a Devil’s Snare is bizarre enough to consider—that he’d _want_ to is even odder.

 

“I think it’s unique.” Matt defends, stung. “It’s a conversation starter.”

 

And yet they've never had a conversation about it before now. Matt’s planning to leave a sick friend in order to go water a deadly plant that Foggy is 90% sure he doesn't actually own? And it’s going to take all night?

 

It seems like a textbook excuse, and not a very good one.

 

“Matt, are you sure you’re alright?” Foggy wonders carefully. “Because if you need to talk to me about something, about how you’re feeling right now—“

 

Matt shakes his head, stroking Foggy’s cheek in a gesture that feels much more intimate than Matt probably means it to.

 

“Everything will be fine. I’ll take care of it.” He smiles gently and leaves before Foggy can point out that Matt doesn’t have to water a plant to make things fine. He just needs to stay.

 

“So, that was weird, right?” Karen says after the door clicks shut. Foggy nods, pressing his fingers against his cheek where Matt touched him.

 

Matt’s hand was shaking.

 

“Very weird.”

 

* * *

 

Foggy wishes he hadn’t let Matt go.

 

He’d thought Matt maybe just needed some time alone to work through his feelings about Elena’s attack, so he'd lied about the plant and fled. Foggy could understand that. Matt likes to have solo time to deal with his negative emotions. Then Foggy usually swoops in and helps when Matt’s tuckered himself out from all the angsting. It’s a system.

 

But the thing is, Foggy could really use another wand in this situation.

 

Somehow the alarms got disabled, so the friendly neighborhood hit wizard was able to enter the room without alerting the hospital staff. And that sucks, because he seems to be very good at his job.

 

At least Karen’s gone to get something to eat. There might be some collateral damage here. Foggy cast a shield around Elena, although it’s hard to maintain while casting attack spells too. Still, it’s necessary—Elena can’t really defend herself at the moment, and Foggy’s not risking her life just to save a little energy.

 

Foggy does better than he thought he would. The wizard fights fiercely, but Foggy fights based on emotions, and he’s _not_ in a very good mood. He’s furious that this man dared to attack Elena, and he’s terrified because Matt hasn’t come back to the hospital yet and he hasn’t called, and he’s tired and low on blood sugar and he is so very _done_ with this right now. Foggy’s not a great duelist, but this isn’t a duel. This is a fight, and Foggy’s not going to pull any punches. He needs to get all this negative energy out somehow, and his magic is chomping at the bit here. It’s easy to cast an Oppugno Jinx on some objects and get the man surrounded. 

 

The sight of dozens of razor-sharp scalpels soaring through the air towards him seems to shake the wizard just enough to drop his defenses. As Foggy would really rather not stab someone, even an evil assassin, he uses the minuscule moment to stun the man instead.

 

“Be glad you ran into me instead of my friend.” Foggy tells the man sharply. “He’d have hexed your balls off.”

 

It’s not an idle threat. Matt probably _would_ have hexed the guy’s balls off. Foggy is sure the wizard would be duly cowed if he weren’t unconscious.

 

Elena’s still fast asleep and completely unharmed, thank goodness, so Foggy floats the man out into the hallway and calls security to come pick him up. Then he calls Karen to guard Elena.

 

“I’ve got to go warn Matt, and he’s not picking up his phone.” Foggy explains. “That dumb Devil’s Snare had better be the most amazing plant in the world to be distracting him this much.” The plant that probably isn't real. Matt’s sad plant-less solitude is going to have to cut short though, because Foggy’s not leaving him alone for another second until they find out what’s going on.

 

Karen wishes him well and Foggy Apparates.

 

Matt’s door is locked, and he’s not answering. Foggy knocks again and again, but there’s nothing.

 

“We need you at the hospital.” Foggy calls through the door. “Matt, come on. I know you’re in there. Stop watering your imaginary Devil’s Snare with your manly tears for a second and talk to me.” Nothing. Foggy hesitates, looking down at the doorknob. "I want you to know that I feel really bad about invading your privacy like this.” He mutters, pointing his hand at the lock. “Alohomora.”

 

The lock clicks open. Well, that was easy. Foggy had been expecting beefier security, to be honest. He’ll have to fix Matt up later. Foggy is a beast at warding and protection charms and Matt is clearly _not._

 

Foggy hears breathing, shallow and sharp. There’s someone else here. Foggy doesn’t call out, because he’s not sure it’s Matt. Matt would have answered the door. Matt would have let Foggy in, and there are assassins on the loose. It could be anyone. The breathing hitches, and there’s a small moan of pain.

 

And it _is_ Matt. Just that tiny noise is enough for Foggy to recognize his voice. Foggy starts running. He finds Matt, and it’s…

 

Matt’s holding a mask in his hand. The _Devil’s_ mask. Well, Foggy thinks hysterically, that explains the tea leaves, doesn’t it? A mask for lies and betrayal.  _Matt’s_ the Devil.

 

Foggy steps closer anyway, feeling sick, and Matt’s eyes flutter open.

 

“You’re right. I really _couldn’t_ cast a healing spell to save my life.” Matt gasps out, and it clearly hurt him to say—not his pride, but his actual _body_. He looks like he’s been on the end of about a hundred cutting curses, and then maybe tossed into a blender for good measure. Choking out the words clearly cost him far too much energy, but he just _had_ to make a wry joke.

 

He’s dying.

 

“Shut up. Stop snarking.” Foggy orders, kneeling next to him. “I’ll get you to the hospital—you can have the bed next to Elena, and I can glare at you while I’m taking care of her and it’ll be okay and—“

 

“No hospitals.” Matt rasps. “Call Claire. Phone.”

 

“Who the hell is Claire?” Foggy asks, but he figures it out himself a second later. “The Healer.”

 

It’s got to be. Claire has to be the Healer that Matt saw after the bombs and mentioned once or twice later. Hottie McBurner Phone. Does she _know?_ She must, if Matt’s telling Foggy to call her. Great. That’s just perfect. Matt trusted her over Foggy with his secret.

 

There’s no time to sulk about it. Foggy sits next to Matt and holds his hand while the call goes through.

 

“Matt?” The woman on the other end sounds worried already—clearly Matt’s called about things like this before if she _expects_ trouble. At least Matt picked a Healer that actually knows how to use a telephone.

 

“You heal people, right?” Foggy asks faintly, watching the slow rise and fall of Matt’s chest. Getting slower. It’ll stop completely soon.

 

No.

 

“Who…” Claire starts, but then seems to change her mind. “Yes, I do.”

 

Foggy nods weakly even though it’s not like anyone’s there to see it. Matt’s out cold and Claire’s out of the building.

 

“Good.” He says firmly. “That’s good.”

 

“Is Matt hurt?” Claire checks, and she sounds even more anxious but also resigned. This has definitely happened before.

 

Foggy shakes his head.

 

“Not for long.” He murmurs, watching as all the little cuts and bruises on Matt’s face start vanishing slowly like they were never there. Faster and faster, and Foggy feels dizzy. “But you might want to hurry anyway.”

 

Foggy’s hands are shaking, and then the rest of him is shaking too. The pallor starts to fade from Matt’s cheeks and his breathing evens out and gets stronger. No scars, Foggy thinks as he watches more wounds fade. Thank goodness. Foggy’s healing spells are weak at best, but since it’s Matt and it’s an emergency they’re working much better than they should.

 

It’s still too much. It’s a different branch of magic than Foggy usually uses, and it’s not one Foggy’s good at. Every spell is a struggle. It’s like trying to run a marathon with a broken leg. Foggy really shouldn’t be doing this. He should be saving his magic to Apparate and bring Matt to the hospital, but Foggy can’t move.

 

He feels drained and cold, and he wants to lie down and go to sleep. He’s so _tired._

 

“Foggy?” Matt’s eyes are wide and scared when he sits up. Barely a scratch on him, Foggy thinks with a rush of lightheaded pride, and it won't even be 'barely' soon. Almost there. “Foggy, you need to stop. I’m okay. You can stop now.”

 

Foggy shakes his head, giving a hiccuping laugh.

 

“Can’t.” He chokes out, voice wet and weak and so, so cold. “It’s like the coffee.”

 

“Coffee?” Matt looks bewildered, but only for a second. “ _Oh.”_ Realization and terror dawn in his eyes like twin suns. Matt catches Foggy when he slumps forward, vision graying. "No, you're alright. Just stay with me, okay? Please just stay with me." He makes a shuddering, desperate sound, something close to a sob. "I'm sorry. I can't help you like you help me. I want to and I can't and I'm so  _sorry."_

Matt’s coffee is always hot, and he never needs an umbrella, and he has silk sheets to soothe his sensitive skin. Foggy does that, Foggy helps, and Foggy doesn’t have a choice about any of it. He doesn’t have a choice about healing Matt either, although he would choose to every time. It just happens.

 

Wild magic.

 

* * *

 

Foggy wakes up in much the same condition as he fell asleep: with a worried Matt hovering over him like a guardian angel. Not, not a guardian angel.

 

A lying _Devil._

 

Wizard healing wards aren’t much different than Muggle ICUs. There are mint green gowns and sterile white walls and an overwhelming sense of sanitary sadness. Still, most Muggle ICUs don’t have a Matt Murdock curled up in a chair that looks like it might double as a torture device, angular and awkwardly-made. It must be hell on Matt’s back, but he’s not moving. When Foggy suggests very politely that he get out of the chair, get out of the room and get out of Foggy’s life, Matt shakes his head.

 

“My coffee got cold.” He whispers, pointing towards a paper cup that’s sitting on the cheap little nightstand next to Foggy’s bed.

 

Foggy stares at him, stunned.

 

“Do you really think I care that _your coffee got cold?”_ He hisses, infuriated. “Good! I hope it’s a fucking ice cube, you bastard.”

 

“I haven’t had cold coffee since the second we met.” Matt says softly, ignoring Foggy’s antagonistic words. “I forgot how awful it tastes. And I don’t know if it’s cold because you’re hurt.” He adds, voice thick. “Or if it’s cold because you hate me.”

 

Foggy groans. It's hard to stay angry in the face of Matt's wounded doe eyes, but Foggy gives it his best shot.

 

“I don’t _hate_ you.” He objects. “I just really don’t like you right now. You _lied_ to me, and you broke Muggle _and_ magical laws, and you just—“ Foggy sighs. “And I don’t know what to think anymore. Maybe my magic feels the same way.”

 

Matt looks stricken.

 

“No, it has to be because you’re sick.” He argues, and he sounds more than a little desperate. “You’ll recover.”

 

Foggy’s not sure if the desperation is just from wanting Foggy to heat up his coffee again or from wanting Foggy to get healthy. Foggy wants to be uncharitable and say it’s the first, but he knows Matt better than that.

 

Evidently he doesn’t know Matt as well as he _thought_ he did, but Foggy still knows him better than that.

 

“Probably.” Foggy hedges, not wanting to make this too easy for Matt. “I know people say laughter is the best medicine, but I’m thinking a dose of the truth might be pretty conducive to my convalescence right now instead.”

 

And he’s used his SAT word for the year. Now he just needs to work in an obscure bit of mystic lore he learned for a Charm School exam, and he’ll officially be a success story of the education system. Possibly the only one.

 

“Truth.” Matt repeats, looking earnest but also a little ill. “I can do truth.”

 

“Really?” Foggy presses skeptically. “Because you’re looking kind of peaky at the thought. Is the truth really that hard to spit out?”

 

Matt shakes his head, offended. A moment later, he seems to change his mind and shrugs helplessly.

 

“I don’t know. It shouldn’t be.” Matt sighs. “I just don’t know where to start.”

 

Foggy looks him up and down, uneasy.

 

“That many lies to sort through, huh?” He prods, and he feels as bad as Matt looks. Just how much has Matt been lying to him over the years?

 

“No, no.” Matt assures him hastily, holding up his hands like he’s warding off the very idea. “I mean, there are a few lies, but it’s mostly…There are a lot of things that I, ah, omitted? Neglected to mention, glossed over, that sort of thing. But I didn’t _lie.”_ He promises earnestly. “About most of it.” He ruins his pitch by mumbling the last part.

 

“Right, if you just _glossed,_ why are we even having this conversation? I do the same thing every day when I use Chapstick.” Foggy agrees sarcastically. Matt winces. “Yeah. So start de-glossing. Get out the paint thinner of truth. Cast a roughening charm of honesty. Just—go.”

 

Matt licks his lips.

 

“Would you believe me even if I told you?” He wonders quietly. “Or would you think it was just another lie?”

 

“Of course I…” Foggy starts hotly, but finds that he can’t quite force out the words. The fact is, he _might_ think it was just another lie. “I would believe you.”

 

Matt's smile is a bit broken.

 

“It’s not fair to ask you to.” He admits softly. “I know it’s not. I wish there was a way— _Oh."_ He scrambles to his feet and makes his way to the door.

 

“Wait, you don’t have to—“ Matt’s gone. “—Leave.” Foggy finishes, sighing.

 

As the time ticks away, Foggy realizes that as much as he’d told Matt to get the hell out of his room, he hadn’t really wanted it. Matt must have known it at the time if he can sense Foggy’s lies, but he hadn’t said anything. He’d just stayed quiet and strong and talked about coffee.

 

It’s too quiet without Matt’s quiet.

 

And Foggy’s _thoughts_ are too loud. His mind just keeps running around in circles. Matt’s his best friend. Matt lied. Matt’s a good man. Matt hurts people. Matt would never set those bombs. Matt’s on video beating up Muggle cops right around the times the bombs went off.

 

Matt is the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

 

Speak of the Devil, Foggy muses wryly—or _think_ of the Devil, anyway. Matt comes back into the room, sits down carefully and holds up a vial with great aplomb.

 

“Yay, you got water.” Foggy cheers flatly, puzzled. “What, was cold coffee not good enough for you?”

 

Matt purses his lips and uncorks the vial.

 

“Veritaserum.” He announces. “They keep it on hand for emergencies when they need to be sure a patient’s not lying about their medical history or symptoms. Claire assured me they use it rarely enough that they won’t miss one tiny vial.”

 

So Claire’s here too, and she’s supplying Matt with ethically sketchy truth potions. Wonderful. Foggy can’t wait to meet this woman for real. They’ll be having words about enabling Matt’s craziness—

 

Matt downs the potion in one swift gulp. Foggy yelps, scrambling for the bottle, but it’s too late. Matt’s _craziness_ is clearly in full swing.

 

“What are you doing?” Foggy squeaks, appalled. “Three drops, you idiot. You only need three drops. Do you even—can you overdose on that stuff? Do I need to call the Healers?" Matt shakes his head.

 

"It's fine. Claire watered it down for me before she bottled it." He reassures Foggy likes this makes it okay to  _chug a dangerous truth potion._ 'Don't worry, I just ingested a mind-altering substance with no thought for the consequences, but it probably won't kill me.'

 

"Fine, great, you're still an idiot. You don’t just down a potion like that for kicks and giggles." Foggy growls. "Were you _that_ thirsty, Matt? Because I would have scrounged up enough power to heat up your damn coffee if I knew this was the alternative.”

 

“No magic. You need to heal.” Matt orders gently. He puts the crystal vial delicately on the table next to the cold coffee. “And I’m not doing this for ‘kicks and giggles’. I’m doing this for _you_. We’re on equal footing now, at least for an hour or two. I’m not really sure how long the effects last, but hopefully we’ll be done by then.”

 

“Hopefully.” Foggy concurs dimly. Matt just drank a potion that most people don’t even allow in a courtroom. Unethical, unfair. “So you want me to…what? Interrogate you?”

 

Matt nods, looking pleased that Foggy’s caught on so quickly.

 

“Anything you want to know, and this way you can be sure that it’s the truth.” He smiles tremulously. “I _want_ to tell you the truth, Foggy. I want you to believe me. So…ask. Any question in the world.”

 

There are about a million that spring to mind, and Foggy is chagrined to admit that a few of them involve some variation of: ‘Do you think maybe you could love me if I begged you hard enough? Because I’ve been trying for eight years, but I’ll try for eight more if you say yes.’

 

And not only is that pathetic in the extreme, but it’s also not fair to Matt. He’s offering to bare his soul here, and he’s given up his right to privacy—the privacy that Foggy knows he cherishes like a Leprechaun cherishes gold—just to make Foggy more comfortable. He can’t lie.

 

Foggy can’t abuse Matt’s trust just to satisfy his own pining curiosity.

 

“When did you decide to put on a mask and start attacking bad people?” Foggy finally decides. Start the very beginning, a very good place to start.

 

Matt takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. Then he starts talking.

 

“There was this girl, and she had a father that…” Matt swallows and doesn’t finish the sentence, but Foggy gets the idea. “And he was a wizard and she was a Squib, and all the neighbors and the family just sort of liked to pretend she didn’t exist because she was a ‘disappointment’. Since she didn’t have magic, she wasn’t a real person. So no one stopped him—I don’t know if they just didn’t care or if they were too busy ignoring her to notice.”

 

Foggy pushes down his immediate urge to track this whole group of people down and hex them into the next century. Now is not the time to get distracted.

 

“That story doesn’t really seem relevant to the current topic.” He points out, forcing all the reactionary, righteous anger down as deep as he can.

 

Later. He’ll start planning revenge later.

 

“I’m getting there.” Matt reassures him. “I tried talking to the Aurors, but they didn’t want to get involved in a family squabble. Rich family, old blood. So I tried the Muggle authorities, and they didn’t do anything either. I couldn’t just _ignore_ her, not like they all did.” His voice is hoarse with the memory. “So I went and found the father, and I…he survived. I shattered his wand though, and I told him that I’d shove every single splinter down his throat if he ever went near his daughter again.”

 

“I see.” Foggy offers neutrally, reeling inside. Matt seems to think that ‘he survived’ is a cheering statement, like it’s a pleasant sort of surprise. And the wand splinter thing…that’s brutal. Foggy might have said the same thing, but Matt sounds like he would actually follow through on the threat. It's like the first day they met, that flash of danger in Matt's words that had taken Foggy so aback. “So that would have been about three years ago. Was the bomb thing the first time after, or…?” 

 

Matt clears his throat, looking uncomfortable.

 

“There were some times in between.” He prevaricates. Foggy thinks he would have stopped there if it weren’t for the potion. “Once a month or so for the first year, then two or three times for the second. By the third I was doing it every week, sometimes more than once.” He winces, clearly unhappy with divulging that much detail.

 

Foggy watches him for a long moment.

 

“The Devil’s gone after Muggle criminals too.” He points out mildly. “How did you manage that without them seeing your magic?”

 

Matt raises his hands, bizarrely enough. He clenches them into fists, and then flexes the fingers meaningfully.

 

“I don’t use magic on them.” He explains bluntly. “I happen to pack a rather impressive punch—it stops most wizards dead too. They don’t seem to expect an outright Muggle-style brawl.”

 

So Matt just beats them up caveman-style when he can’t beat them up warlock-style instead. Lovely. Foggy’s not sure which tactic is worse.

 

“They must have fought back, though.” Foggy points out. “You must have taken more than a few hits.”

 

Matt nods the point reluctantly.

 

“Yes.” He offers, and it’s apparently enough to satisfy the potion. He doesn’t add more information.

 

Foggy stares down at his own hands, mimicking Matt and clenching his fists. Matt was doing this week after week, and Foggy never even knew.

 

“Why didn’t I ever notice?” Foggy wonders quietly, and he’s almost angrier at himself than he is at Matt. How could he not see that his best friend was getting hurt? And Matt _must_ have gotten hurt. All those fights, and he can’t cast a decent shield charm? It must have gotten bad sometimes, at least before he met Claire.

 

Matt exhales shakily. 

 

“Because I didn’t want you to.” He whispers. “I’m very good at making you see what I want you to see, and I _hate_ it. It wasn’t just the mask. It was everything. I hated lying to you.”

 

He remembers what Matt said that night in their office about lying and keeping secrets. 'Trust me, it's easier than you think.' He'd been dropping hints. That enigmatic  _asshole._

 

“Well, I wasn’t I big fan of being lied to, so I suppose we agree on something.” Foggy snaps before he can stop himself. He winces. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I just—I’m cranky right now. I’m tired and sore and I feel like my brains _and_ my magic just got sucked out of me through a Krazy Straw and…I’m sorry.”

 

Matt bites his lip, and it looks like he's blinking back tears.

 

“I'll never forgive myself for hurting you like that. I wish you hadn't healed me." Matt confesses, and then he pales and raises a hand halfway to his mouth like he wants to push the words right back down his throat. "You're more important than I am. I _love_..." He stops, shaking his head sharply. His eyes are squeezed tightly shut and his expression is pained, possibly from fighting the potion. "I _love_ having a friend like you, and I can't stand the thought of losing you." He's already pushing back his chair and getting his coat. Getting ready to run. “I should let you rest. We can talk later.” He tells Foggy soothingly.

 

Foggy stares at him, stricken. That's the truth? It has to be, but it makes him feel ill. Matt wishes that Foggy hadn't  _healed_ him? Matt would have _died_ if Foggy hadn't healed him. They both know that. 

 

"I am never going to regret healing you." He tells Matt deliberately. "You're the most important thing in the world to me, no matter how crazy you are. Do you understand that?" Matt nods, and Foggy narrows his eyes. "Say it out loud." Where Matt can't lie. 

 

Matt hesitates.

 

"I feel the same way about you." He says, which isn't quite a yes but isn't a lie either. "Foggy, can I...I need to..." Foggy sighs.

 

"Let me guess: you need to go water your Devil's Snare?" He offers wearily. Matt swallows and looks away.

 

Since Matt can’t lie at the moment, he can't agree that he's going to water his imaginary plant. Even without talking, his expression pretty clearly states that ‘this was a mistake, I'm hurting both of us right now by telling the truth, so _please_ let me run away and water the plant we both know doesn't exist’.

 

And Foggy almost orders him to stay anyway. He still wants answers, and the potion won’t last forever. The thing is though, he’s tired and Matt looks tired, he’s sick and Matt looks sick, he’s miserable and Matt looks miserable, and he’s mad and Matt looks…still miserable.

 

Matt's already told him so many secrets tonight, including some that Foggy almost wants to forget hearing (' _I wish you hadn't healed me_...'). Besides, how many more secrets can Matt possibly have?

 

“Yeah, okay. Come visit me later, alligator.” Foggy commands with weak humor. Matt nods and murmurs a goodbye. Foggy calls out, stopping him at the door. “Matt, why didn’t you just heat up the coffee yourself? If you hate cold coffee that much, wouldn’t that have been easier?”

 

Matt slips his glasses onto his face, smiling a little sadly. Foggy can’t see his eyes when he answers, but he thinks they might be sad too.

 

“It just wouldn’t taste the same.”

 

* * *

 

Foggy tells himself that he’s glad Matt left.

 

The truth is, Foggy _does_ need to rest. The Mediwitch says that he suffered the worst case of magical shock she’s seen since the Second Wizarding War. Almost kicked the bucket, apparently—it was only luck and an emergency transfusion that saved his life.

 

Foggy’s hooked up to a magic IV—no needles, thank god, but he can feel a constant trickle of warm power running through his veins. He’s on the good stuff, but the healing can only go so fast.

 

So Foggy needs to rest, and he needs to have his freak-out.

 

Foggy’s pissed, of course, but maybe less from Matt being the Devil and more from Matt lying to him for so long. From the way he talked under the effects of the potion, he’d felt awful doing it, but the fact is that he _did._ And then when he started telling the truth, and he said that Foggy shouldn't have healed him...

 

There's a lot to freak out about.

 

Foggy glances at the empty vial and the coffee still on the table, and he sees a thin tendril of steam rising from the cup. Hot coffee.

 

Well, it looks like Foggy’s wild magic might be recovering faster than the rest of him. He was thinking of Matt, and nice things happened. Apparently the status quo remains: both Foggy and his magic love Matt.

 

Foggy takes a sip of the coffee, grimacing when he tastes how little sugar it has. Too much sugar confuses Matt’s oh-so-sensitive diva tastebuds, Matt had explained, but he still likes having something sweet to brighten up his morning. He’d smiled quite fondly as he said it, and Foggy had pathetically pretended that Matt was talking about him instead of coffee.

 

“Really? He’s not even _here._ I’m the one who’s drinking you.” He scolds the coffee. “I _will_ make you sweet and creamy and delicious by _force_ it you don’t quit it.”

 

The coffee remains stubbornly bitter. Foggy glares at it for a minute, but he can’t quite make himself cast the right spells. The coffee wants Matt, and Foggy wants Matt too. Can he really blame his magic for expressing what Foggy’s feeling?

 

Besides, it always tastes artificial if he does it with a spell. The wild magic makes it yummy, and a sweetening charm just can’t measure up. Matt’s right. It just wouldn’t taste the same. Foggy ignores the cup and focuses instead on his freak-out. It goes pretty well. The thing is though, Foggy finishes his freak-out in the first hour, but Matt doesn’t come back.

 

“You’re looking much better.” A nurse tells him kindly. Foggy takes one look at her and knows.

 

“And _you’re_ Claire.” He diagnoses dully. “I recognize your voice, and you look like a Claire.”

 

Claire blinks, but gives a bemused smile.

 

“Thank you.” She replies mildly, taking it in stride. “Matt hasn’t come back, has he?”

 

Foggy supposes that Matt probably would have gone to see Claire while he was here, maybe even before he came to see Foggy. That stings a little.

 

“Nope. Nada on the Matt front.” Foggy sighs. Claire bites her lip briefly.

 

“I’m worried about him.” She confides, voice low. “He seemed upset when he left.”

 

Foggy assumes that was from the secrets. Those are pretty _upsetting._

 

“I’ll go check on him as soon as I get out.” Foggy promises. “Which should be soon, right?” He smiles winningly, nodding in subtle encouragement. Claire narrows her eyes pensively.

 

“You’re doing very well.” She allows. “Matt always tells me that you’re a fighter, and I guess he was right. You’re bouncing back admirably.”

 

“Matt said I was fighter?” Foggy asks, curious. “He talks about me?”

 

Claire rolls her eyes but looks undeniably fond.

 

“Very often.” She confides, tone knowing and wry. “Apparently you’re the best wizard in the world, and the kindest person, and the smartest attorney. He’ll go on and on if you let him. He adores you.”

 

Foggy grins into space for a moment, and he must look completely silly but he doesn't care. Matt _adores_ him.

 

“I kind of adore him too.” He confesses, because Claire seems like a trustworthy person and she’ll find out soon anyway if she sticks around. “Even when he’s being an idiot.”

 

Claire nods in sympathy.

 

“I imagine that happens a lot.” She commiserates. “I’ve already picked out the room I’m going to put him in when he inevitably gets admitted for one of his insane endeavors.”

 

Foggy can’t help a weak laugh at that.

 

“Is it as nice as mine?” He jokes, waving around the sterile, rather dreary room. “If it's not, we could share. Just scrunch up his bed next to mine and we could be roommates again.”

 

Claire chuckles.

 

“I think the two of you together would probably be a recipe for disaster.” She’s not wrong. “No, Matt’s going to get a nice windowless room in the D-3 ward—he won’t miss the view and no windows means no chance of escaping to engage in even more insane endeavors.”

 

“You’ve got this all planned out, huh?” Foggy teases. “But D-3 is a Muggle ward, isn’t it?”

 

Claire nods absently, scribbling a note on his chart—with pen, thank goodness. Smart girl, skipping the quills.

 

“Mm, and Squibs.” She agrees breezily. And then she doesn’t add anything else. She seems to think that explains the mix-up.

 

“Squibs.” Foggy repeats blankly. “Yeah, I guess.” Claire glances up, and her gaze is understanding.

 

“I know. I’d sneak him up to this floor if it wouldn’t cost me my job, but you know how the policymakers are. Magical wards are only for magical folks.” She snorts. “It’s complete bullshit, obviously.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Foggy agrees dimly. "Obviously. Magical folks. Right.”

 

He shoves the blankets off of him and stumbles to his feet. He’s still a little shaky, but he’ll be fine. He needs to move. Now.

 

“Foggy, what are you doing?” Claire hisses in disapproval, taking a step closer. “Get back in bed.”

 

Foggy shakes his head and grabs his wand from the dinky little bedside table. He stands tall and takes a deep breath.

 

“You might want to get that hospital bed on D-3 ready. He's going to need it after I'm done with him."

 

He vanishes.

 

* * *

 

Foggy ends up standing in the middle of Matt’s apartment in a mint green hospital gown.

 

He finds Matt in the bedroom. Matt’s just tugging on a rather tight back T-shirt—Foggy valiantly ignores the way it hugs his frame—and he turns around without Foggy having to say a word.

 

“You’re out of the hospital.” Matt looks truly joyful to hear it, no matter how downtrodden he’d seemed when he left Foggy's hospital room. “I was just about to go back and try to convince Claire to let you go home early, but I suppose you did it for me.”

 

And he’s smiling so warmly that Foggy almost doesn’t do it. Almost.

 

“Matt, cast a spell.” He orders unsteadily. Matt freezes. “Any spell.” Foggy continues urgently. “ _Lumos._ Cast a Lumos Charm, Matt. Let there be light.”

 

Matt's smile shatters. He shudders, swallowing hard.

 

“I can’t.” He whispers, sullen and sick. “You know I can’t.”

 

Actually Foggy _didn’t_ know, not until this moment. He’d thought Matt was just _subtle_ with his magic, not that he didn’t _have_ it.

 

“You can’t.” He repeats hazily. “But you—you have a _wand.”_

 

Matt nods slowly.

 

“My father’s wand, remember?” He reminds Foggy quietly. “Not mine.”

 

Foggy gives a brief, incredulous huff of laughter.

 

“So _that’s_ why you never brought it with you when we went out.” He realizes. Not because he was using wandless magic, but because he wasn't using magic at all. Matt shrugs ruefully.

 

“It’s not much practical use to someone like me. It’s a memento of him, but that’s all. I couldn’t get a single spark from it unless I lit it on fire.”

 

Foggy remembers the tender, practiced way that Matt held the red oak wand. He’d _seemed_ like a duelist, one that had been through the training, knew all the steps. That had been one of the things that truly made him believe Matt was a wizard, that graceful and easy manner he had while holding a wand.

 

And Matt can’t use it. To him it’s just a stick—no. That’s not true. To Matt it’s a connection to his father, who probably _taught_ Matt those stances and dueling forms even though he knew Matt couldn’t ever use them the normal way.

 

To Matt it’s more than a wand. It’s a memory.

 

“But you cast spells.” Foggy argues obstinately. “I remember you casting spells. Little ones, but you cast them.”

 

Matt shakes his head, a smile that’s too tight to be happy on his face.

 

“Party tricks. Illusions.” He admits tightly. “A careful combination of novelty toys, charmed trinkets, and showmanship.”

 

“No.” Foggy denies vehemently. “No, there was that one time that you made a Galleon appear from behind my ear—oh.” His eyes widen. Right. Party tricks.

 

Matt’s smile becomes a little more real and wistfully warm.

 

“That might _actually_ be the oldest trick in the book.” He informs Foggy gently. “But it’s a _good_ trick. Sleight of hand is important.”

 

He flicks his fingers, and there’s a Galleon between them. Foggy is shocked for two reasons. One: he has no idea where Matt was hiding a Galleon in that tight shirt of his. Two: where the hell did Matt get a Galleon and why wasn’t he sharing it with his poor partner?

“I don’t think I could do that trick.” Foggy confesses. He wiggles his fingers to check, but no Galleons appear and his hands don’t look nearly as mesmerizing in motion as Matt’s do. “Nope.”

 

Matt chuckles and flicks his fingers again. The Galleon has become a Sickle. And then it’s a Knut. And then it’s a Galleon again. And then it’s gone.

 

If Matt can’t do magic, the Galleon still has to be around here somewhere. Foggy will search later and steal it. And the Sickle. And the Knut. Matt owes him big for all this.

 

“It takes practice.” Matt comforts. “I’ve had a lot of that over the years. No one’s ever quite appreciated it like you do though. Even Muggles seem to think it’s a bit simplistic.”

 

“It’s a cool trick.” Foggy mumbles mutinously. He’s a little embarrassed that he didn’t realize that Matt was faking it, but by then he’d been convinced that Matt was a wizard. He’d thought it was a cheeky thing, like pulling a rabbit out of a hat. A Muggle trick done with real magic. “But the Legilimency. You can’t fake _that._ You read minds. You read _my_ mind. All the time.”

 

You can’t fake that with sparklers and sleight of hand.

 

“Enhanced senses. The curse was unstable and no one’s quite sure what it was _supposed_ to do, but it did more than take my sight. It's more than me being picky about the sugar in my coffee, Foggy. I can hear heartbeats, breathing, every word people say when they think they’re alone. Scents, textures, tastes—it’s amazing the sorts of things you can discover if you just look for them.” He rubs at his arm sheepishly and clears his throat. “And you…that doesn’t take magic. I know your mind better than I know my own. Reading you just comes naturally to me. It always has.”

 

Foggy’s not sure if Matt reading his _body_ is better or worse than Matt reading his mind. He was trying so hard to control his thoughts that he’d never even considered controlling his heartbeat. Matt probably knows even more than Foggy assumed he did.

 

“But when you do…the mask.” Foggy forces himself to ask. “You fight all the wizards _just_ by punching them? No spells?” Matt smirks and nods.

 

“I kick them too, but that’s the basic idea.” He agrees. “It’s a surprisingly effective strategy. Wizards expect a curse—when you shatter their kneecaps and break their nose instead, it takes them a while to catch on. They’re actually _easier_ to fight than the Muggles are.”

 

“But not the people you fought last night?” Foggy probes. “Because you were half-dead when I showed up.”

 

Matt winces and puts a hand to his chest where one of the worst wounds was. There’s not the slightest mark of the injury on his skin there, Foggy knows, but Matt’s still got the memories.

 

“A Japanese wizard who specialized in criminal enterprises and cutting curses.” He recalls. “And then Fisk and his friends.” He pauses. “Fisk _is_ a Squib, by the way. He had a lovely monologue about how our actions mirror each other so completely, and the lack of magic came up frequently. If we're lucky he might think I'm an informed Muggle rather than a Squib, but he _knows_ I'm not a wizard.”

 

Good to know. Kind of inconsequential compared to all the other bombshells tonight, but still valid information. They’ll get to that later.

 

“But you went out before then. You got hurt. How did I not see that?”

 

Matt nods towards the bathroom.

 

“Bruise removal paste above the sink, and murtlap essence for healing cuts. Dittany’s more expensive, but I get it when I can. If I put concealer under my eyes for circles and wear my glasses to cover any lingering redness from exhaustion, I imagine I almost look decent.”

 

Oh. Foggy feels all the anger draining out of him at that, and it feels like his heart is cracking in two. He wonders if Matt can hear _that._

 

The thought of Matt getting up in the morning, aching and in pain, and rubbing medicine into his skin because there’s no one else to help him…it’s unbearable. And then just rubbing makeup on over the medicine so that Foggy can’t see that he’s still hurting, tired and rundown and weak…

 

“God, Matt.” Foggy breathes, moving closer. “Why would you even try doing this alone? Why wouldn’t you ask me to help you?” Matt swallows.

 

“Because then you’d have wanted to know why I never healed myself.” He points out softly, eyes downcast and there's something about the picture that rings alarmingly of _shame_. Not just from the deception, but also from... “And then you’d have known I was a _Squib_.” He spits the word out like it's something bitter, forced into his mouth against his choice. 

 

Foggy stops in front of him, close enough to touch but he doesn’t reach out yet.

 

“Why would that matter?” Foggy presses. “You can’t honestly think I’d hate you for not having magic. That I’d _ever_ have hated you for it.” He hesitates. “Why would you lie about something like that?”

 

Matt snorts derisively, but the derision doesn’t seem to be aimed at Foggy.

 

“Foggy, people _do_ hateus. They hated me. I was a freak to Muggles because of my senses and I was a failure to wizards because I couldn’t cast spells. No matter how smart I was, how much magical theory and history I learned, it wasn’t good enough. _I_ wasn’t good enough.”

 

“Matt…” Foggy does reach out now. Matt catches his hand before it reaches Matt’s shoulder. He holds it tightly in his own hand as he continues.

 

“And then I met you, and you were the first wizard who didn’t treat me like a leper. I should have told you the truth when you saw the wand, but I thought that maybe you were only being kind because you thought I was a wizard too, so I just stayed quiet and let you reach your own conclusions. It wasn't quite lying. Not quite.” 

 

Foggy can vaguely understand that—only vaguely, because he has no idea what Matt’s life was like before he met Foggy—and he can sympathize, but that was just the first day they met.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me later, once you knew I wouldn’t mind?” Foggy wonders, and Matt’s lips quirk upwards at the corners, rueful. 

 

“By the time I figured that out, we’d been friends long enough that it would have sounded even worse. I wouldn’t just be a Squib—I’d be a Squib who fooled you into thinking he was a wizard and lied to you for months. I figured it would be better to not confess at all and focus instead on keeping you happy enough that you wouldn't notice.”

 

Foggy looks a moment to examine Matt’s earnest face for signs of acute insanity.

 

“ _That_ seemed like a valid plan to you?” He asks, disbelieving. Matt shrugs.

 

“It _did_ work for eight years.” He points out cautiously. Foggy narrows his eyes. That's going to be a sore point for a while, he can already tell. Eight years of obliviousness. Pathetic.

 

“I suppose it did.” He grits out reluctantly. “So did _everyone_ know but me? It this some sort of conspiracy?” Matt shakes his head, squeezing Foggy’s hand comfortingly.

 

“Claire knows, obviously, because she had to heal me.” Matt lists off. “My priest knows.” The hell? Why does a random priest know? “I don’t think the others do. I met them all after I met you, and you’re probably the best alibi I could ask for. You cast a new spell every minute, including non-verbals that people assume _I_ cast, and you tell strangers constantly about what a good wizard I am. No one’s called me a Squib in years.”

 

Foggy eyes him carefully. Still earnest, but there’s something a little wistful there now.

 

“And you’re okay with living like that? Pretending all the time?” He checks. Matt smiles tentatively.

 

“But I’m _not_ pretending. That’s the best part. They see what they want to see, but I’m just being myself. I stay with you, and you make magic happen. That’s almost as good as casting the spell myself.”

 

Matt looks blissful at the thought, and Foggy realizes that Matt _wants_ magic. He’s strong enough without it, and Matt must know that, but he still wants it. He grew up in a family where dueling was a way of life. He lived in an orphanage with children from magical families, and when everyone else was going to weekend Charm School he was stuck rereading books for lessons that no one would let him learn.

 

To top it all off, _somewhere_ along the way he apparently ran into enough jackasses that he thought he needed to _threaten_ Foggy in order to keep Foggy from trying to take advantage of his ‘disadvantage’. He’s met enough people who treated him that way that he prepared a standard threat _template_ to apply to strangers.

 

So Matt’s life is basically _Oliver Twist_ with an extra chapter scribbled in about blindness and bigots. And maybe an epilogue about the Ugly Ducking, because Matt has blossomed into a beautiful Squib Swan. Or something. Basically Foggy is trying to think of strange literary comparisons so he doesn’t say or do something stupid. This is a precarious situation, and Foggy doesn’t want to say anything damning, like…

 

“I would cast any spell you asked me to.” Like that. Pretty damn damning. “Charm, hex, curse, enchantment. Anything.”

 

Matt wants magic, and Foggy can _give_ Matt magic. Maybe Matt can’t cast the spells himself, but Foggy can do that part for him. And when it comes to the wild magic, it switched loyalties years ago. It's devoted to Matt, and so is Foggy.

 

Matt is silent for a time, dark eyes shadowed by the dim light but there's still something bright there. A spark. Matt _looks_ like the kind of man who should have magic.

 

A phoenix rising from red sparks and embers.

 

“Could you cast a love spell?” He asks softly. Foggy tenses, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 

“You can’t force love.” He warns Matt guardedly. “But attraction, devotion, _obsession—_ those are possible.” He hates the idea of casting something like that. “Why would you want one?”

 

Matt’s not the sort of person who would force himself on anyone. There has to be a reason he’s asking, and it can’t be the obvious one. Maybe it’s a test to see how far Foggy would go for him.

 

Foggy would go _very_ far. _Too_ far.

 

Matt licks his lips and uses their clasped hands to tug Foggy a little closer.

 

“There’s this man that I’ve been in love with for years, and I want him more than anything in the world. More than magic.” Matt murmurs. Foggy swallows, wrestling with trepidation and a new surge of jealousy. “And I’d give anything for you to love me back.”

 

_You._

 

Oh. Foggy’s vision goes a bit hazy for a moment and his balance goes a little shaky. Matt supports him with one hand on the small of his back, looking worried and regretful and timidly hopeful.

 

Yet another surprise tonight, but at least this one is a good surprise. The _best_ surprise.

 

_Please don’t let this be a magical shock-induced hallucination. Or if it is, please let it last a little longer._

“I know a spell for that.” Foggy confesses hoarsely. “Want me to tell you?” Matt nods, eyes wide and watchful. Foggy reaches up and taps Matt gently on the top of the head with his wand. “Abracadabra. I love you too.” He smiles shakily. “Pretty cool spell, right? And it always works.”

 

Matt doesn’t even seem to breathe for a moment. He pulls his hand from Foggy’s back and touches his fingers to where Foggy’s wand tapped. Finally he starts to smile, and it’s slow and soft and more extraordinary than any spell.

 

“Does it?” He whispers faintly. “So if I kissed you, the spell would make you kiss me back?”

 

“Absolutely.” Foggy agrees quickly. “And the thing is, it’s a very long-lasting spell. Lifetime warranty, actually. So you don’t need to worry about wearing it down with too much kissing.”

 

Matt’s smile widens to something more like a grin, tender and warm. He leans in and Foggy meets him in the middle. A perfect, light brush of lips, and Foggy strokes Matt’s jaw just where he healed Matt before. Smooth skin—some of Foggy’s best work.

 

Well, it was for _Matt_ after all. It had to be the best. Matt pulls away, beaming.

 

“You cast the loveliest spells.”

 

* * *

 

Now that Foggy’s looking, it's…still pretty much impossible to tell that Matt’s not a wizard.

 

He’s smarter and more knowledgeable about magic than most wizards and witches are, and it's not like they need to use much magic in their line of work.  Matt's ‘party tricks’ are amazingly subtle and well-executed. His Galleon trick especially still mystifies Foggy, even though the Galleon turns out to be foil-wrapped chocolate money. So they’re still poor, but at least Foggy gets free candy. 

 

Matt never even lies. He never  _once_ says that he's a wizard or a Muggle. And the thing is, most people who come to them don't  _care._ They just want help, and they'd take it from an opera-singing marmoset if they had to. It's sort of amazing, the way that Matt dances around these things. His missing magic and the havoc he wreaks at night, and no one has a clue. It's amazing that Matt hasn't buckled under the pressure by now. Thank god Foggy can finally help. 

 

And Matt’s more comfortable now that Foggy knows. He casually asks Foggy to cast spells for him and he smiles brilliantly every time Foggy obeys. Foggy’s learning more spells than ever just to impress Matt and give him more to play with.

 

Matt makes magic fun.

 

Foggy passes over the wrapped package and watches as Matt rips off the wrapping paper in a savage frenzy of motion. Matt’s so careful about most things, taking his time and being meticulous about details, but when he gets excited Matt turns into a feral creature.

 

“Are these…?” Matt looks up at Foggy, clutching the gifts to his chest with an air of awe. Foggy grins proudly.

 

“Just finished the enchantments today. Fire and shatter-resistant, they absorb shock, and if you block a curse with them they’ll soak up the energy and pack a hell of a wallop when you smack the caster.” He lists off. Sure it had taken months to master the spells, and the sheer intricacies of the charm-work had almost given Foggy three separate mental breakdowns, but it was worth it.

 

Matt swallows.

 

“They’re made of red oak.” He whispers roughly, and Foggy thinks this might, at the moment, be the only part that matters to Matt. “You made them with red oak.”

 

Foggy bites his lip and nods.

 

“Hot temper and fast reactions.” He explains bashfully. “It seemed to fit just as well for clubs as it did for wands, and you need a good dueling weapon.”

 

Matt nods slowly, stroking each club once with deliberate care before placing them delicately back in the box and putting it to the side. Foggy is worried for a second that Matt might not have liked it as much as Foggy hoped—maybe using the same wood as Matt’s father’s wand was a bad idea, brought up too many memories.

 

Then Matt drags him into an almost brutal kiss and starts walking backwards to the bedroom, wrapping his arms around Foggy’s waist so Foggy’s forced to move with him. How is Matt this good at walking backwards? It’s uncanny.

 

“Seriously?” Foggy asks between rough kisses. “I thought we were ‘waiting for the right moment’?” Matt nods.

 

“And this is the right moment.” He tells Foggy confidently, nipping at Foggy’s lip during the next kiss. Foggy yelps when Matt gives him a delicate twirl like they're dancing, and then there's a twist and a dip and Foggy's somehow on the bed with Matt on top of him. 

 

“I guess you really liked them, huh?” Foggy muses, impressed by the elegant maneuver. “And to think, I almost got you a Devil’s Snare instead.” Matt makes a sound of vague curiosity, going for Foggy’s shirt. “Thought it might add some credibility to your go-to excuse for fleeing the scene. Plus it would make a cute sidekick. The Devil and his Devil’s Snare.”

 

Matt laughs, tearing Foggy’s pants an inch or two at the seam in his rush to get them off. It's like he's forgotten that zippers exist for a reason.

 

“There’s a mending spell for that, right?” He wonders absently as he tosses them aside. “And I like these much better. They’re the best present I’ve ever gotten.” He gives Foggy a fierce kiss. “You are a genius and I love you.”

 

Weapons, Foggy thinks vaguely as a very naked Matt starts kissing down his chest. Foggy’s given Matt charmed jewelry and enchanted roses and more than a few magically-enhanced massages, and it’s _weapons_ that convince Matt to put out.

 

Foggy really should have seen that coming.

 

Now, Matt _says_ he’s a Squib, but Foggy’s not so sure. Matt’s fingers sort of feel like magic.

 

“Is the _bed levitating?”_ Matt asks, delighted, and he’s got three fingers inside and they are _definitely_ magic. Foggy glances to the side, sees that the bed is indeed levitating, and shakes his head.

 

“Nope. On the ground. That’s just me rocking your world.” Foggy lies easily. Matt hums thoughtfully.

 

“I suppose I’ll have to try harder then.” He flexes his fingers and Foggy gasps. “Are we levitating yet?” Foggy rolls his eyes, wiggling a little to get closer.

 

“You’re not going to stop until I admit it, are you?” He wonders wryly. Matt shakes his head, smirking. “Fine. _Yes,_ we’re levitating, and if you ever bring this up in front of _anyone_ , I will murder you.”

 

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” Matt soothes. “I like it. I’ve never had magical sex before.”

 

“Really?” Foggy’s surprised. Matt struck him as the type who would like to experiment, and he loves magic so much. Then again, Matt said he’s had bad experiences with wizard attitudes, so maybe sex never came up.

 

Well, it was their loss. Foggy is going to give Matt the best magical sex of his _life._

 

“Mm. You’re my first.” Matt tells him dreamily. He laughs when Foggy and the bed shiver in unison. “I suppose you enjoy the thought, then?”

 

“A little.” Foggy confesses, abashed. It’s not a possessive thing so much as the joy at being able to show Matt something new. “You’ll love it, I promise. I can make it really good.”

 

Matt hums agreeably, sucking at the corner of Foggy’s jaw and moving his fingers slowly and deliberately. Actual _fireworks_ erupt when Matt angles them just right and Foggy whimpers at the pleasure. The fireworks don’t crackle, but instead explode in a series of light tones that make a rather lovely melody.

 

Taking Matt’s enhanced hearing into account, Foggy supposes. His magic is very considerate.

 

“That’s one way to tell you’re doing it right.” Matt mutters. “Are we going to get choirs of angels if I do this well enough?”

 

“Oh, so you’re an _exhibitionist_ now.” Foggy drawls, a little breathless from the _fireworks_. “Wanting angels to peep on us. Tsk, tsk. And you call yourself a good little Catholic boy.”

 

Matt smirks and kisses him lightly as he twists his fingers. Foggy bites back a moan and his hand clenches in Matt’s hair.

 

“I don’t remember saying I was _good.”_ Matt points out cheerfully. “And I doubt God cares about my sexual appetites. He’s too busy sorting out my _other_ failings as a Catholic.”

 

“You’re so very optimistic about your faith.” Foggy notes dryly. Personally, he thinks God is lucky to have a guy like Matt on His side. Foggy bucks his hips impatiently when Matt keeps up a lazy pace. “Come on. Stop teasing.”

 

“Who’s teasing?” Matt wonders innocently. “I’m just savoring the moment. You only get one first magical sex experience.”

 

“Well, if we got our hands on a Time-Turner…” Foggy starts pensively. Matt snorts and pulls out his fingers in one smooth motion that makes Foggy gasp. Magic fingers, seriously. He wonders if Matt has other magic appendages.

 

He chokes back a laugh a moment later at the image. Matt might have more than one ‘magic wand’ to brag about.

 

“You’re thinking of a perverted pun, aren’t you?” Matt accuses, exasperated. Foggy coughs abashedly. “Let me guess, you want me to polish your wand for you.”

 

Foggy blinks and then beams. _Polish._

 

“I hadn’t even _thought_ of the polishing innuendo yet.” He breathes, thrilled. “It’s brilliant. Some nice spit and polish. Oh, and maybe some wand-work exercises to make sure your grip is just right—“

 

“Oh, for the love of—“ Matt grumbles, sliding down Foggy’s body. He glances up when he reaches Foggy’s hip. “You can’t make bad jokes if you can’t speak.” He decides, and gets to work.

 

Matt’s mouth is just as magic as his fingers are.

 

When Foggy goes to vehemently deny the ridiculous assertion that his jokes are anything less than brilliant, Matt sucks harder and traces tender circles on Foggy’s hipbones with his thumbs. It becomes significantly harder to remember how to talk after that, so Matt's strategy evidently works.

 

Matt seems quite smug when he drifts back up, and Foggy not sure if that’s from keeping Foggy from making (hilarious) jokes or from the delicate rose petals that have appeared from thin air and fallen like snow over the bed, perfuming the air with something light and sweet.

 

Foggy can be a little bit of a romantic, alright? And maybe he’s imagined Matt’s pale skin covered in crimson rose petals before, but that was just once (a night for years). His magic is totally taking liberties here.

 

He might as well roll with it though. He plucks one of the rose petals from the bed and brushes it gently across Matt’s mouth. Matt’s lips are redder, Foggy notes, and even softer than the petal—that’s quite impressive and also a bit too attractive for Foggy’s health. There’s also a glistening wetness to Matt’s mouth, and it’s so lovely that Foggy has to toss the petal away and pull Matt down into a kiss.

 

“You have about two minutes before I think of another wand joke.” Foggy murmurs tenderly when Matt pulls away. Matt laughs.

 

“I appreciate the warning.” He murmurs back. “I’d better keep you distracted.”

 

The rose petals begin changing color as Matt presses inside and starts to move. Red to orange to yellow to green, all the way through the spectrum and then back to the beginning. It’s a good thing that Matt can’t see them, because Technicolor flowers are _not_ something Foggy could live down.

 

A particularly amazing thrust has Foggy’s head falling back against the pillows with a gasp. He blinks when the position gives him a good view of the ceiling.

 

Constellations all across the ceiling, bright little pricks of light. Even as he watches, one of the stars streaks across the stretch of space and disappears. Shooting star. Make a wish.

 

…To be honest? There’s nothing Foggy can wish for that he doesn’t already have. He skips the wish, snaps his hips up and kisses Matt instead.

 

“Come on, Matt. A little harder. My ‘wand’ needs a _very_ happy memory to make the perfect Patronus.”

 

Matt goes still for a moment, smile dazed and disbelieving.

 

“Two minutes exactly. Unbelievable.” He murmurs. “You are _very_ lucky that I love you.”

 

Foggy nods happily and kisses him again.

 

“I know.” He sighs, and starts reminding Matt of all the reasons that loving Foggy is a very good idea.

 

Magic sex is even better than Foggy remembered. It takes twenty minutes of afterglow cuddling for the bed to get the memo that the show’s over. It lowers to the floor, but the rose petals and the stars stay.

 

Foggy thinks he should probably cast a spell to clean them up, but he’s too sleepy and content. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with being a little messy. He runs a rose petal over Matt’s shoulder and up his neck, following it with his mouth. Matt sighs and tilts his head back.

 

“You really are magical, you know.” Matt muses, stroking Foggy’s hair. “But it’s not the magic. It’s just you.”

 

At Matt's sappy but admittedly sweet words, Foggy feels the surge of a spell. He’s not sure _what_ he just did for a moment, because there are no sparkling explosions or grand enchantments. _Something_ must have happened though, and he didn’t consciously cast a spell.

 

He hopes it’s something less embarrassing than a levitating bed. Nothing on the floor, nothing on the walls. He glances up to check the stars and goes pale. Not a levitating _bed._ Levitating _silverware._

 

All the spoons in Matt’s apartment are waltzing above their heads.

 

Foggy steadfastly ignores them, leaning in to kiss Matt again and desperately trying to distract him from noticing the humiliating spectacle. Matt smiles dazedly at him when Foggy pulls away.

 

“I can hear the metal rubbing together, you know.” He tells Foggy fondly. “It sounds like your spoons are very good dancers.”

 

Foggy groans and buries his face in Matt’s shoulder.

 

“Sorry.” He can’t believe this is actually happening. He’d been _joking_ when he mentioned waltzing spoons years ago. “You just sort of make me…”

 

“Very happy?” Matt finishes hopefully. Foggy nods into his shoulder. “Or maybe very _excited?”_ Yup, he’d mentioned that too, hadn’t he? Idiot. "Should we put a spell-block sock on the door, just in case?"

Foggy pulls back to glare and swats Matt's arm.

 

“Fuck you.” He snaps, but it’s not very heated. Matt flashes him a wicked smile.

 

“I would love to, but you’re still tired from this time.” He says sunnily. “After we sleep for a little while and drink some Invigoration Draughts, I promise. You’ll need all the stamina you can get.” He pats Foggy's hip tenderly. "I have plans, you see. Eight years' worth of fantasies to fulfill." 

 

Foggy gulps, because it honestly sounds like Matt’s serious. Amused, but serious. Eight years' worth of fantasies, and that's just on Matt's side. Foggy's got hundreds of ideas to add to the cauldron. With both of them working together...

 

The spoons start to tango.

**Author's Note:**

> I kept trying to convince myself that there's no way Matt could pretend to be a wizard, but I think he actually could. I mean, they have charmed objects for like everything in the Harry Potter universe, plus Matt can talk circles around most wizards and did a job where spell-work was minimal, went to Muggle-funded schools where magical clubs and lessons were extracurricular and thus avoidable, has superpowers that no Muggle should, and has Foggy constantly doing magic for him. Plus he's apparently pretty good at living lies for years at a time. 
> 
> In my headcanon: Stick is a Squib or Muggle and hates wizards, which probably contributed to why Matt had those hang-ups. Marci is totally part-Veela. Brett's a Pureblood Auror who likes everyone. Oh, the possibilities with this universe...
> 
> Edit: Darn it, I was so off with my predictions on American schooling. Curse you, Ilvermorny! Whatever, I added a shout-out. Neighborhood-run 'Charm Schools' are still officially an alternative in my version, like homeschooling is for brick-and-mortar schools, because otherwise Matt's master lie wouldn't really hold water. And I'm not really digging the term 'no-maj', but maybe it'll grow on me? Until then, 'Muggle' it is.


End file.
